#I worked so damn hard on this drawing and those wings

[sinkat-arts]

Bokuto as the great horned owl god, Cikap Kamuy.

Our Story Bokuaka / ~9.5k / T / Mythology AU Written for the Haikyuu Mythology Exchange

Akaashi Keiji has found himself lost and alone on a mountain trail in the dead of winter. The sun is setting on him and his hopes for being saved - until he runs into an enigmatic stranger who's just as lost as he is. Who is this man with the warm, open smile and the shining golden eyes? And what kind of unlikely salvation does he bring with him?

Read it on AO3 >

[bunningchaos]

Runaway

I finallllyyy, got this done- story thingy for KVAU on the sideline, so far got the first introduction chapter up

↼↼{Nil} - {Next}⇀⇀

Original Nightmare/Dream belongs to jokublog, on Tumblr!

Summary - Having nowhere else to return to, and forced to be on the run. Away from the hands of whom he once addressed as 'Brother'. Nightmare travels from one universe to another, in an attempt to remain undetected. Until he comes across tormented souls that screams for help. Unable to look the other way, takes them under his wings.. not without facing some issues.

Link to the AO3 for the chapter

And because I can, here's the drawing without the text

Anyways

✕-✕

Being on the run constantly, never having even the smallest amount of time to take a breather. His legs were beginning to ache with every heavy steps forward, one after another weighing him down more and more. The echoing footsteps accompanied by a noise similar to that of a wet cloth being dragged across a kitchen's counter, the accursed tendrils that drips with black goo. Staining the path he takes, it reeks heavily of negativity. That damned corruption that won't leave his body - every since THAT day, spurting out from his back yet can't even maintain a proper form. No matter how hard he tries to keep it hidden, or to control it to do something, anything. Nothing worked. The least he could muster was lifting up the tip of the extra appendage just to do a tiny wave, if it could even be counted as one. Given how useless it's proven to be so far.

Hah.

To hell with that. No, damn every single thing!

This forsaken body of his, riddled with corruption and adding onto the fact he have a rather weak physique from the get-go.

The desperate need to slow down when he knows for a fact, that danger is lurking right behind him. Yet he couldn't push forward for longer than his limits could allow. Resulting in close-calls where he could practically feel the presence of whom is hunting him down right next to him, staying as silent as possible and even curling in on himself where he hid. Praying desperately that he'd remain undetected. To not be found, dragged back to the hell he once called 'home'.

Why can't his very own body, listen to himself? Why must it get exhausted so easily, to crave for food and water. It wasn't this bad in the past, he could go for days on end without giving into mortal needs such as those. When he was with his brother..

 

...Right, his brother. His other half, the only sole person he had in his entire life. Aside from those residing in the village near the majestic 'Tree Of Feelings', sure they were the probably nicest bunch of people he's ever met in his entire life!- correction, his entire childhood. He still preferred Dream at the end of the day, his beloved precious twin. Whom were always the one closest to him, and vice versa. They were usually together- or so he recalls, no matter what they've always been by each others' side. Through thick and thin, not once have he allowed anyone else into his SOUL, to understand him as deeply, it was all limited to strictly Dream. Perhaps he didn't connect with others as much? Whatever, it wasn't an issue, it never was. Though it's strange, he never actually got the chance to see Dream within the village. But, at the end of the day, when they both retreat out of the lively town and back underneath the tree. Nightmare always beams at the sight of his lovely brother, the sunshine adored by all including Nightmare

This very sunshine, Dream, returned the same adoration towards the moon that didn't shine as brilliantly. Words weren't necessary, Nightmare could literally feel the adoration his brother held for him and that was enough.

 

So, the day that incident occurred? To simply say his whole view on the definition 'trust' was broken, shattered into pieces, were an underestimation. Every fiber of his body hurt from inside out, the overwhelming, nauseating scene induced the urge to throw up.  What hurts the most wasn't the dreaded condition everyone fell under, nor the sickening laughter that rang and echoed within his mind.

It was the absolute realization of betrayal from his twin, no less. Why? Why did he have to do what he did?

Everything was fine.

Life was going okay.

No one was unhappy.

 

No one...

 

...

 

Was Dream ever happy?

 

Was it all a delusion?

 

Did Nightmare do something wrong?

Had he blind himself to the truth?

 

What have he not seen that led to Dream having to take such drastic actions?

 

Even now, he could still remember the way Dream cried- golden tears streaming down the delicate ivory bone. Positivity burning brightly and engulfing the surrounding with nothing but scorching warmth, comforting but deadly. The way he smiled, through the burning pain. As if he didn't hold a single ounce of regret for his decision, that twisted joy. It was horrendous, terrifying. It scarred him mentally.

 

"Ugh--" Wincing, his head throbbed. That was the furthest extent he could remember, everything else was a blur. Vague recollection of him holding onto five darkened apples within his arms were the only other thing he's capable of pulling up from the muddled, fuzzy mess.

 

How long has it been since his last rest? Surely now should be alright to relax, even for just a few minutes. Right? Singular violet eyelight glancing around, scanning the surrounding to ensure there wasn't anyone nearby. Specifically more aware about even the slightest bit of positivity. As that'd usually be a huge indicator that a certain someone were nearby, prompting a hurried, poor attempt to hide.

However, coming to the conclusion that he was safely alone. He could finally ease the tension within his body, though that made him all the more aware of the temperature. One simple breeze sent shivers down his entire body.

 

It's cold, so cold.

..Dream

 

Brother.

 

It's so lonely.

 

"..I don't want to be alone...-" A sob broke out from his gritted teeth, purple droplets rolling down his cheekbones- ones that fell from the left socket, mixed in with the corruption that oozed from the top of his skull, nearly covering that entire upper-side of his face except for a small bit that grant him the tiniest remainder of vision on that specific socket.

Alas, this serves as another way to bring attention to his very skull, the same socket itself was melting. Perhaps an additional aftereffect induced from the consumption of the very fruits that he was tasked to protect with his life. 

Going against his sworn duty for which his birth were created for, having to bear with the overwhelming negativity that flooded every fiber of his body- one bite after another into the apple, Letting the magic surge within the pathetically fragile body he possesses.

Agonizing, the entire time feeling like he's being ripped apart limb by limb. One bone after another, alongside experiencing the lowest drop in temperature that even a monster wouldn't be able to handle.

No ordinary living being would, one can even compare it to being thrown straight within space, locked within containers filled with nothing but ice-cold water where the chill gets drastically worse. At points nearly coughing out the bits of fruits that he took, having to forcibly coax his body into swallowing it all- to consistently encourage himself.

'This is for your own good',

'You're doing great.',

'One more apple, just the last one'

and.. 'The pain will be over soon'.

All of those, being lies, pure deception to lull himself into the final digestion of all five apples he snatched from the tree. His own mother- creator, who gave him and his brother life. Moments before fleeing from the latter that did the exact same thing he had done, the only reason he pulled the same thing off was the terrifying reality regarding the apples' safety.

No doubt, Dream is seeking for it all back, ultimately having turned majority of the once evenly-split amount of fruits that the almighty tree beared, into absolute positivity. Ridding negativity to a extreme, a drastic low where even Nightmare struggled to function for a few.. weeks? Months? He lost track of time really, or was it years?

 

Everything, regardless of where he stepped foot in- was hot, calescent. For the first few.. months, or so he assumes. Positivity raging like a hellfire that burnt everything in sight, affecting even those that remained blissfully unaware of the changes. Similar to that of a tsunami that comes full-force and slowly subside, things gradually calmed down.

At the same time, negativity began arising from the pit that it was shoved down into. That's not to say Nightmare is pleased nor agree with the horrific acts and scenes that he witnesses when attempting to stay within one of those few universes at first to recope and recharge but, interfering wasn't in his range of capability during then. Having to learn how to drown out the surrounding noises, pretend he's hard of hearing and sight.

Only taking his leave when he's able to recover enough strength to carry on for a few days. Even just an hour's worth of negativity, which weren't much, have the potential to keep him going for days if he manages his reserve well. That is.

...At times not even managing to get that much, the least were five minutes at max. Courtesy of Dream showing up.

 

Although he now knew the physical and mental torment that Dream had to endure, one thing he couldn't remotely grasp was. The other's change in behavior, his entire attitude and mindset seeming to have morphed into someone new entirely. To the point that even Nightmare couldn't identify who the opposing guardian were, if not for the sheer positivity he emanated and the familiarity of his soul.

Their souls, intertwined in such a way that there’s an invisible connection which granted them the capability to speak telepathically, similar to that of soulmates, rather, bondmates would be much easier to explain. By no means were they in a contract or pledged any vow to one another, those were never necessary. They're two halves of the same coin afterall. Understanding each other pretty well. with or without words.

But that was the exact same thing that Nightmare despised. Loathing it so much as it allowed Dream to constantly attempt talking to him through their bond. Coaxing him to return, with words sweet as honey. Otherwise, on a daily basis- locating him. Albeit Nightmare always made a run for it, irritatingly enough leading to a huge wastage of energy.

It took Nightmare plenty of effort, excruciating painful attempts- day after day, to sever their ties. Dwindling the connection to a minimum, ensuring it won't ever work the way it used to. Making it harder for him to be located now that the both of them couldn't properly sense each other anymore. It was always disadvantageous for himself from the beginning anyways, 

 

If Nightmare still remained practically the same mentally, even after taking not one, but five of the apples of his own side. Then what even happened to Dream? Does the amount consumed affect those mentally and emotionally too, if it exceeds a certain amount? Do, the brother- his sibling, whom he used to have.. still exist...?

Baseless assumptions these all were, he had no means of checking nor anyone to ask. The twins were unique, different from the rest of those that resided within the Multiverse. Whilst their appearance were that of a skeleton monster, their actual physical form- were far different, however it ceased to exist long ago, as they have blended in perfectly with the vessel they were put into.

Harming or injuring them critically may end up permanently killing them. No matter if they're superior, godly beings whom were literal embodiments of both, positivity and negativity respectively. Created with the sole purpose to maintain the multiverse's balance stability, and ensure that everyone remains free from any possible calamity doomed to befall if the balance is tipped off far too much onto one end.

 

The outcome is presumed to be a sight of pure tragedy. 

 

This current.. branch-off from a universe's timeline, was neutral. Nearly completely empty if he had to roughly gauge the amount of souls that were present. Which were harder than expected, granted, because of his lack in energy and the fact that those living beings didn't have enough strong emotions of either sides for him to properly make a clear estimation of.

 

Grasping onto the front of his shirt, the apple-shaped soul within his ribcage throbbed. Pulsing against the delicate bones that encaged it, confined deep in the frail body.

 

Where even were the few residents that existed here? Surely there'd have already been one or two in sight, yet he had not managed to come across even one. Feeding into his loneliness, he desperately wanted to see a trace of soul yet also not at the same time. No one would want him, of all people around. That and his absolute lack of trust and faith in others were other issues to top off.

 

Even so, Nightmare craved some companionship. Anyone, someone—

 

He was never the type to take isolation well, clinging desperately onto what little bit of attention was given to him. Usually provided by his dearest twin, which was no longer an option, leaving him all alone, devoid of physical contact or any form of socializing—out of fear, paranoid that the one he talks to might be in cohorts with Dream… No. No, that isn't his brother anymore, not anymore. No longer is the bright, beautiful sunshine that lights up his day here.

He, it—whatever he became, is a shell of his former being. Now overtaken by this filthy, disgusting, horrible entity that enraptures anyone and everyone he comes across. Luring them in with the sweetest of words, into a false sense of security. Stripping them of their free will and identity, bound to an inescapable lifetime of servitude to the S A V I O R.

This was painful.

“Starlight!” A soft and warm voice called out, accompanied by quick footsteps. The young guardian turning around to face the direction of the noise, only to be met with a blur of yellow and white. Startling him, unable to react at all as a pair of arms wrapped itself around his shoulders and pulled him straight into an embrace..

“S-Sunshine!--- Sheesh, be careful!” Grumbling under his breath, and leaning back slightly to cast a sharp, disapproving glare up at his twin. The brilliant ray of sunshine that beamed with sheer joy and excitement, didn’t even flinch nor react to the stare.

“I can’t help it, can you really blame me, Nighty? It’s been houurrsssss!” Whining, Dream tightened his grip over the other. Pulling him even closer, the coldness from Nightmare blending perfectly with Dream’s warmth. Lulling the temperature into a comfortable level for both of them

How dramatic. Rolling his violet eyelights, he reached up and gently caressed the other’s strangely-soft cheekbone. Earning a content, happy noise from him- which turned to a startled yelp once Nightmare abruptly pinched and tugged at the cheek. All the while, grinning mischievously

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even that long, I’d reckon it to be around… uh-.. around…—” Voice trailing off, it’s only now that realization dawned on him that he did indeed lost track of time, the sun was already beginning to set. Huh? What did he even do the entire time before coming back to the tree?

“See! This is exactly what I mean, you don’t even remember how long it’s been since we were last split up from this morning!” Huffing, the bright guardian’s warm golden eyelights fixated itself on the opposing guardian’s chilling violet ones. Like two jigsaw puzzle pieces, each had traces of each other’s colour within it, that only shows upon the close proximity and emotional connection they shared- a mutual agreement from their bond.

A dazzling purple swirl making it’s way within Dream’s eyes, blending and mixing until it formed a symbol similar to a star within the middle. Topped off with a thin line on the inner edge. Whereas Nightmare, were the same except with a mesmerizing yellow moon.

“At this point I’m beginning to question if you prefer spending time with others over me! Given how you keep forgetting about me during your time in the village” Dream whined. Much like a child throwing a fit, though to be expected granted their age. Tilting his head away from the pinch, then leaning forward to rest their foreheads against each other.

“You know for a fact that’s not true. I’d pick you over everyone else, anytime.” Expression softening, Nightmare slowly reached his arms around Dream’s torso. Now returning the embrace, it’s soothing..

“...I know, sorry. I can’t- I just can’t help it.” Closing both sockets, Dream’s voice came out in a whisper. Tone shaky out of slight.. Fear. That one emotion being so dauntingly obvious to Nightmare, the negative feeling catching his attention immediately. Though before he could even address it, his attention drifted.

“Nighty?”

“Yeah?”

“----”

The sudden jerk of his body shifting forward as if he’s about to fall, shocked Nightmare out of his thoughts. Returning back to reality as he hurried backwards. Eyelight shrinking to a singular pinprick the moment his vision registered where exactly he was heading. It’s the edge of the cliff, had he been one second late to realize what’s going on. It’d spell his doom, plunging deep into the darkness underneath the snowy forest where- even he couldn’t see what lies below. The distance being too far down for him to properly gauge but, one thing for certain?

Falling was a high chance of death.

Horrifying.

Yet- selfish as it were, part of his mind were saying otherwise. Ridiculing him for reacting in a panic, that death would’ve been a much better choice. Far better than dragging out this pathetic life of his.

Truth be told? He didn’t disagree with those impulsive, irrationalities creeping in from every dark corners of his mind that he tries- time, and time again, to push aside. There haven’t been proper reasons for him to persist in continuing afterall.

He no longer have a home to return to, his brother is now.. Whatever he is, a forsaken damned monstrosity that takes on the hollow shell of his beloved, precious sibling.. Said entity constantly hunting him down, for the sole purpose of dragging him back to where he supposedly belongs- other than that, the extended reasons? Nightmare didn’t know, why, why do THAT thing consistently search for him? Having naught but assumptions and wild guesses to lead him by.

That being, the magic in his possession, brought forth by the apples he consumed. All of which were perfectly infused within his soul entirely by now. The last bits of negativity that ensures the multiverse don’t fall into the ruins of sheer, blinding positivity.

Having heard the disgusting coo’s directed at him as he ran, that overbearingly sweet voice which he once loved.

“My dearest Starlight!~ Come back, you can’t run forever!” Ugh, yuck.

Much like a prey that falls into a spiderweb, stuck to the sticky strings that weighs down heavily. Preventing any form of escape. These train of adverse thoughts were detrimental to declining his mental state.

“...Why must I keep trying..?-”

It’s tiring.

Dropping down to his knees, the tendrils on his back slowly curled around himself like a blanket. Not serving any purpose other than small amount of comfort, the frigid wind blowing past him. Coldness nipping at his bones through the fabrics of his clothes. As the day passes, his desire to be held– to be close with someone, cradled within their arms comfortably- increasingly got unbearable. Truly, desperately sought for even the faintest shred of hope yet were far too afraid to reach out for any.

“Why do I even bother?”

Not once have he ever felt safe, danger lurks everywhere. What might seem safe, could turn out to be the complete opposite.

He knew that from experience.

Closing his eyes and allowing darkness to consume the blurry vision he has, Nightmare could feel his mind gradually blanking out. Essentially halting any form of thoughts that tried to emerge, the despair invoked from the hopeless situation he’s been thrown into- slowly showing itself from how much of a toll it took on his near-unstable head. The weight of it all pressed down heavily, rendering everything meaningless.

One debilitating day after another, having zero purpose in life than to keep moving forward, run, scamper like an escapee..

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Perhaps, a long rest would be okay. A nice, lengthy nap- to escape from the burdens of reality.

An eternal.. Slumber.

Or so, that would have been his thoughts. If not for a sudden influx of negativity filling his senses. It was the first time in such a long period that he felt something this intensely. Every fiber of his being invaded by the surge in magic. Unexpected but not unwelcomed, his soul pulsing quicker, and quicker, greedily drawing in the negativity to sustain itself- the sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of power and confusion. Causing him to reel back from the sheer dizziness, unaccustomed to being this ‘full’. A huge contrast to the empty hunger he had grown used to.

Help

Who was it?

Godithurtspleasemakeitstop

Who even are you?

Someoneanyonepleasehelpme

The fuzzy voice rang within his skull, instinctively holding both hands over the sides of his head in an attempt to ‘block out’ the noises. Proving to be plenty useless as that did nothing to lessen the invading sound that echoed from seemingly nowhere.

Whoever, or whatever, in this level of distress- had called out to him. Specifically him, strange.. Far beyond that, to the point it’s eerily unsettling.. Why? This has never happened before, so why? Why now, of all times when he was so close to giving up entirely? The timing was uncanny, almost as if the universe had conspired to keep him hanging on by a thread. Force something into his life which he wanted so dearly, right at the moment when he nearly let go. On the verge of embracing darkness.

Shouldn’t this desperate cry for help be heard by Dream instead, the very guardian beloved and adored by all. The literal beacon of light that shines down and grace the surrounding that he steps on. Yet, right now, the plea wasn’t directed to Dream. It was him, compelling Nightmare to respond. For the despondent cries, called out to him. So loud, too.. loud.

..Swallowing back a gulp of air, despite not needing to breathe. Wait..

If.. just maybe, if he can’t help himself out of this endless hell that forces him to be on the run daily. Maybe… just potentially, could he instead help this one desperate soul?

That abrupt idea was far-fetched and seemed almost stupid. Especially considering how badly he was struggling, how could he even fathom the concept of saving someone else- to possibly pull them out of the darkness, be their.. moon, within the darkened sky. Light up a new path, to provide them with hope, or a reason to keep going. Turn their life around.

At least, before the impulsive ideals gets deeply rooted within his mind, before he gave in and committed to the final decision of ending it all. Potentially, this one attempted act of compassion could allow him the slim opportunity to finally feel useful, helpful even if for just a brief moment. Just this one time.

This might be worth it, right? Though he doesn’t have any actual expectations, however, something within the back of his mind was screaming at him not to ignore the plea for help– that he’d deeply regret it if he turns his back on this very rare chance, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime situation. Or, ironically enough, once in a blue moon.

While Nightmare weren’t the greatest at assisting someone out of a dark place, as proven by his own predicament. Nor can he claim to be a bright and wonderful as his twin, but, surely he’s capable of at least.. Lending just one person a hand. It’s only ONE person. There likely wouldn’t be a second chance like this granted.

At the same time, selfish as it were. He hoped, prayed internally that this time. Perhaps, he could have a lasting companion. No matter the duration, he’s recovered enough to muster some ounce of magic to utilize to his advantage afterall. That all aside? It was unfair, really. Dream, he had others by his side. Not only that, but a selective few that were closer to him than most others. So.. if THAT thing masquerading as his brother. The guardian of positivity, could gather a group of his own. Why can’t Nightmare?

Why can’t he do the same? To have one, or two- if lucky enough, assuming the ones he come across that cries for help.. Is.. trustworthy. Unlikely, that’s for certain. Those that were this far tainted to the point that they’re able to fill him to the brim, definitely have issues. A extreme and severe issue, does it matter? Perhaps, he’ll be careful. That’s for sure.

There won’t be a second time where he lets down his guard. 

Nonetheless, practically being offered a dish, laid out perfectly on a table which he could either, accept or refuse.

He’d be a fool to not take it.

Without needing to reconsider twice, and also pushed on by the consistent urges repeating in the back of his mind. He steeled himself for the possibilities of failing, knowing full well it wasn’t going to be a guaranteed success.

When was the last time Nightmare actually communicated with someone anyways? Hell if he know. Although, with his capability to sense one’s emotions and his keen observation. Combining it both and playing things safely, calculating every single possibilities, could have a tiny glimpse of hope for the situation to turn out favorably.

Greedy as it is, the flame that died out, reignited itself again. If he couldn’t save his own twin, he can try harder to save this person. Whoever they are, by any means possible.

No matter the cost.

There’s nothing for Nightmare to lose at the end of the day.

Getting up onto his feet, with his hands pushing against the ground whilst the tendrils shifted to it’s original position behind his back. Nightmare raised a hand out infront of him to conjure a purple vortex of magic, swirling luminously and casting a radiant shine within the surrounding. Surprising even himself, not expecting to have that much energy, Nor enough magic within his reserve to pull off something like that, portals were usually so much smaller and less.. Flashy. This is gonna be an issue he has to deal with later on, the fluctuation in negativity had given him a huge boost that he wasn’t accustomed to.

Unexpected, but greatly appreciated. At the same time, concerningly shuddersome. Mildly dreading the hell that he’d witness, especially one capable of providing this heavy amount of negativity. None of the other horrific sights engraved within his mind supplied this much.

“Alright, you can do this. Night.” Quietly encouraging himself, he took a step forward and entered the gateway he manifested. It fading and closing with a burst of magic after he’s fully through to the other side.

[lunaandco]

the reporters series; part one, halloween devil

pairing: gavi x ofc

summary: blanca meets a masked boy, that might be someone she should know.

warnings: a little bit explicit, they fuck in the bathroom lol

series masterlist // masterlist

The first clue should have been the quality of his sweater.

Blanca hated partying with her uni friends. They always forgot she was a town person at heart and lost her in the crowd of the big city. That never happened back at home, with Martina, were everyone knew everyone and the streets were more familiar than her own house.

But she still went, and she still ended up alone, pulling down the hem of her short dress and wondering if she should take off the fake plastic devil wings she was wearing. Getting lost in the crowd of her town wasn't so bad. In Barcelona, it was terrifying.

Blanca found herself trying to leave the club, hand on her phone, ready to check for the nearest subway station, when she crashed against some boy. He was wearing a white knit sweater, white jeans and a creepy, nun-like mask, that did nothing to conceal how big and sweet his eyes were.

"Sorry," she said. She was just a few inches shorter, but his shoulders were broad enough to cover her.

"No worries," he winked. "I wasn't looking either."

His gaze slipped to her cleavage for an instant, the tight dress was meant to make her boobs pop up, the friend who leaned said, to get boys' attention, and it was clearly working.

"Hermano, we're going to–" a friend of the boy, with a similar mask and dark skin, stopped right on his tracks, when he saw Blanca. "Damn, bro. Don't let me interrupt you."

Both Blanca and the first boy stuttered, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. The second boy retreated, after mentioning something about a booth somewhere, she was too busy thinking about how her boy had not denied flirting with her.

"I'm sorry about Ale," the boy apologised. "I'm... Pablo."

Blanca wasn't stupid. She noticed the hesitancy at the introduction, and realised he must have given her a fake name.

"I'm Inés," she said, also giving a fake name. No girl should give her personal info to complete strangers. Specially if she didn't even know his face.

"Would you like to have a drink?"

The boy, Pablo, ended up being funny. From the South, but had spent enough time in the city to be almost fluent in Catalan, sports lover and really into football. Blanca perked up at that. She was studying sports journalism at uni and told him just that.

The way he tensed should have been the second clue.

When they found their way to the bathroom, and empty cubicle in the men's, she got to examine the fabric of his sweater up close. The knitting pattern was high quality, thick thread that screamed expensive. So were the jeans. Nothing about what the boy had said or done indicated her that he was a spoiled trust fund brat. He shared the same fondness for late afternoon football matches in the park with the neighborhood kids and remembered those discontinued, offbrand cereals all the middle to lower class kids of their generation missed. And they were in a cheap nightclub anyway.

But Blanca was too horny to join the dots. She lifted his sweater at the same time he reached below the skirt of her dress.

"I want to kiss you," she begged.

"I can't take off my mask," he replied, a regretful tone on his voice. She wanted to protest, but his fingers pulled down her black thong, and suddenly all she could think of was the pleasure he was drawing out of her, the softness of his tense muscles.

He had said he liked sports, but his body was more than built. It should have been another clue. Blanca dropped a kiss on the cheek of his mask as a revenge, leaving a black lipstick stain.

"Please, fuck me."

And he did. Jeans lowered to his mid-thigh, sweater up his armpits, hands on her ass as her back was glued to the wall, thighs around his waist. He fucked her hard until she could not speak and the condom filled.

After a good fuck, Blanca tended to crash out. She became clingy and sleepy, almost like a drugged kitten begging for cuddles.

She should have warned him.

Pablo took it well. He helped her put all her clothes back where they were, ran his fingers though her hair to try to comb it a little, as he accommodated his own clothes, all amidst her whining because he was too far away.

He must have had led her out of the club, because fresh air hit her face and she finally sobered up.

"Sorry," she muttered, but his hand squeezed her hip.

"It's okay," he said. "It's kind of a compliment." She giggled and then spotted more guys with similar masks to Pablo in the corner down the street. "Those are my friends. Do you want to come home with me?"

There was an unsure tone to his question, but she nodded, taking off the horns of her costume.

"I'd love to."

Fitting in the car was another struggle. Despite it being big and expensive —truly another clue on itself Blanca should be thankful he was not a serial killer, with how unaware she was of her surroundings —there were only five places to sit, and they were six. One of Pablo's friends drove, and she ended up sitting in Pablo's lap, at the passenger seat.

Before the car started, the friend driving took off his mask, and Blanca was left staring at his face.

"Why does your friend look like Ansu Fati?" She muttered. Pablo sighed, and took off his mask too. "Oh."

Ansu started driving, but Blanca could only look up at Pablo —no, Gavi.

"Surprise?"

"Should I call you Pablo or Gavi?" She asked calmly. The dopamine hit was still clouding her nerves.

"I actually prefer Gavi," he admitted.

"It's nicer," she smiled softly. "You should probably call me Blanca then. Inés isn't my name either."

"Ah."

Ansu dropped them at Gavi's apartment. He dropped the mask on his couch and turned to look at her.

"I'm the worst sports journalism student in the world," she joked. Gavi snorted.

"You won't rat us out, right?" He asked carefully. "We were so excited about going out without being recognised, the masks were so fun..."

Blanca understood. She wasn't sure she would have been so calm around him if she knew.

"What kind of career you think I want to build?" She replied, feigning offense. "I want to be a women's football journalist. You and your friends are a second thought."

Gavi beamed, his shoulders relaxing. Blanca sighed.

"I think I owe you a kiss," he said. Blanca grinned, rushing to his arms as he pressed his lips against hers.

[lucabyte]

ppl saying they look to my comics for inspiration and pointers on how to format things is WILDDDD to me (and delightful don't get me wrong!! i am overjoyed) because like. none of you are privvy to the absolute WAHHH I DONT WANNNAAA bitchfits i was *CONSISTANTLY* throwing every time i forced myself to make a comic before i got into isat. like no joke. i considered comics such a fucking difficult medium they always drained my drawing energy so hard because they always felt like they took sooo long and had so many moving parts and were so much harder than storyboards (WHICH I ALREADY STRUGGLED WITH) because you had to account for panel shape and speech bubbles and-- like you get it. but genuinely for real. the sheer amount that i complained whenever i clawed my way through drawing a comic (which thus! was not very fucking much!!) compounded by the fact that i *genuinely have trouble reading comics*. as in, i really struggle to parse the flow of contiguous movement or action between panels (possibly connected to the fact ive got mad aphantasia?) of even really well done best-of-the-best professional comics...

... BUT. basically. what im trying to get at is. if you wanna learn to draw comics, evidently you super can?! I genuinely *didnt* draw comics before drawing isat fanart! I have no idea what it was about ISAT fanart that made it finally click for me? (I think it was... not having to think about colour? Removing a step from the process really helped. Plus, it being fanwork meant I could just start en-medias-res and not have to think about setup... Trying to cram too much explanation and setup into my oc stuff was always a big hurdle too...)

I find them fast to do now! and damn if i dont value speed in art (<- impatient little fucker). its still going slowly on my oc comics.. mostly due to the colour again, i think. but it's not extremely, ecruciatingly difficult anymore. is what im saying. and im genuinely baffled by it every time i put pen to page. its fucked up. did you guys know that practice makes things easier? . fucking perverted if you ask me.

As for looking at other people's things for inspiration. if you want to know where I was looking when I was piecing together the first couple fancomics I did for ISAT i want to specifically point at . well besides everything rebecca sugar has ever done (for hands and facial expressions *especially*), the main person i really dug into the work of was Leo Fox (Website link). I feel like i wanna point people to the source of a lot of the inspiration for my more off-kilter panel choices so you all can get the full experience rather than through my regurgitated mimesis. I'm now at the point where i can wing panel layout so i wasn't in there for longgg but. everyone go add it to your knowledge banks as for SUBJECT MATTER aka why i am i so deranged. those are squarely the 2019 postcanon homestuck golden era bleeding through my CLENCHED BITTEN DOWN JAW. A BULL TERRIER ON YOUR BRACHIAL ARTERY. namely that @/floralmarsupial and @/tomatograter's works (no i am not tagging them . im shy) are things i go back to frequently and floralmarsupials pure black/white inktober comics were *especially* an inspiration. if you've been following me a few months you may remember me reblogging a bunch of their stuff from 2019~2021 for seemingly no reason. this was why. The narratively divorced reality of jade strider & Liminal Space are big in my mind here. I balk to call myself anywhere near as good as these but these are what i'm aiming for, tonally and quality-ways with it. also detective pony but ive mentioned that already and thats farrrr too inside baseball for this post.

BUT YEAH TL;DR: I DIDNT DRAW LIKE ANY COMICS UNTIL UHHHH LIKE, WHAT, LIKE 8 MONTHS AGO? JESUS. ANYWAY. THIS MEANS YOU 🫵🫵🫵 CAN DO IT TOO. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. DATTEBAYO!!!!

[courtingchaos]

There’s a Devil Inside of Me and You

Kas!Eddie Munson x Vampire!Fem Reader

Pt.2 of At the End of the World

Warnings: Blood drinking, animal death, human death

A/N: Ope, more of this I suppose. I have no idea what I’m doing with this sometimes the urge just strikes, you know? Also just call me the comma queen because god damn there’s too many in this.

18+ NSFW No Minors

He speaks nonsense sometimes when his eyes go black. Deep pools of obsidian that seem to take his sense away.

“Why me?” You ask him when he crawls back into the boathouse you two hide away in.

“That hand that sneaks through the cracks, it found you.” He brings a new thing each time. A deer he found wandering too close to the lakes edge, a cooler of blood left unattended at the gym-turned-first aid center. “It pointed you out in the dark.” His own spindly finger points at you, tip of an elongated nail grazing your cheek. “It showed me where to find you.”

“Then why you?”

Tonight he clutches a den of foxes in his hands, necks broken, Eddie’s sympathy bleeding through into this creature. He shifts those dark eyes to the rotting slats of wood under you, a deep frown forming between his brows.

“He played at being the hero.” The frown turns melancholic before his face hardens into a grimace and he shakes a limp body at you. “He thought he could win.”

“Against what?”

“The vines. The rot. The bats.”

The sound is always around you now, the beating of thick wings. A muffled din during the night and silent when the sun hits its peak and you fall asleep in the shade of a corner of this dilapidated shack. He huddles you into the depths first, makes sure to tuck your legs up before he pulls the blue tarp and heavy boat cover over the two of you so you’re encased in darkness and the smell of lake water.

That first morning he’d been there, all Eddie all brown eyes all sense, and he’d told you what the sun would do to you. He’d darted his hand out into a pillar of dusty light and had started burning. You understood and said nothing while he arranged the corner for two bodies now, remaining silent when he pulled you along with him.

You were hungry like you hadn’t been before, hungry for his wrist and something wet. He knew what you needed but it was too early. A promise for dusk, a whispered ‘thank you’ and his head found a home on your shoulder, dirty hair pressed to your cheek where you watched him drift off. A moment of panic however when he stilled completely and no more breath came from him.

“Eddie?” You shake his shoulder and he doesn’t react. A firmer shake and his head lolls off it’s perch. You can see a sliver of his eyes now and they sit milky white and dead. A deep feeling of dread, something you should have been feeling a few hours ago settles in your stomach next to your hunger. It twists in the endless growling ache and you can feel it pull at your eyelids. This isn’t sleep though, not in the sense you know it. Whatever this feeling is weighs you down abruptly and it creeps through your body, stilling your movements as it makes it’s way up your spine until it hits your head and the darkness takes you.

Today it’s this other being that brings you dinner. Foxes to keep you for a few days, enough to get those brown eyes back in his skull. You find yourself missing Eddie when he’s gone, replaced by this other who can’t tell you the why of it all. You’ve yet to become accustom to feeding in this new way but instinct takes over and stamps down any apprehension. Long teeth pierce cooling flesh and you have to suck deep to draw the blood to the surface. A fresh kill but still dead, something you have to work hard for to stay alive.

He watches you with unblinking black that burns holes in you. Waits for you to finish your meal before he steals back a limp body from the mound in front of you. It’s day and night with him before and after feedings. This other watches you with rapt fascination and suddenly Eddie is there with fidgeting fingers and darting eyes, small grin forming a dimple on his cheek.

“Who is that?” The blood sticks in your throat, a thick coating that makes a click when you swallow around it.

“Who?” Eddie asks, lips smeared in gore.

“When you’re not here.” You gesture at your own eyes. “When your eyes are different.”

He hums and twists one of his rings around his knuckle. “No I’m…I’m here.”

“What is it then? Am I also gonna start speaking in riddles?”

“No.” He almost laughs at that. “No I-I’m special unfortunately.”

“Special?” You finally unfold from the corner and stand eye level with him, warmth creeping from your belly out towards your limbs.

“I got bit by something else.” He rakes a hand through his matted hair and it catches. He pulls until it rips free and he hisses from the pain and there you are, reaching out a hand to help soothe. There’s a draw to his pain deep in your head, an urge to fix. It propels you forward a few steps and you reach your hand towards his flinching face.

“You need to bathe.” Your fingers rub against his scalp and he shoots you a dubious look from the corner of his eye.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re disgusting.” Your gaze drops to his shirt, front stained with blood and dirt, and then down at yourself where the sight isn’t much better. “We both are.”

He pushes at your hand on his head and you stop trying to comfort him. He’s not meeting your eyes again, instead looking past you and out the window that looks into the woods. Overgrown ivy blankets the brush and walkway to the caved in house up the way. “And where do you suggest we clean up?”

There’s no soap and it’s lake water but it’s better than nothing. The wakes sway you gently where you sit waist deep and scrub your shirt under the water in a vain attempt to get the blood out. Eddie had averted his eyes when you’d started stripping out of your clothes, a move that you’d laughed at.

“You bit my neck and fed me your blood, I don’t think this matters.”

“Still.” He mutters before pulling his shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes.

Now though he floats a few feet in front of you in just his underwear, his clothes draped over your knee to soak in the muddy water.

“Next time you go out, find us a bar of soap or something.”

“Next on my list next to ‘nourishment’.”

“I’m tired of smelling like a lake.”

“It’s a been a week, how do you think I feel?”

A week. Already? Seven days of monstrous appetite and a deadly aversion to the sun.

“A week?”

“Yeah. They’ve got your posters up at the gym.” You hear his head turn in the water and his arms splash when he sits up, the water sitting just under his chin when he crouches. “I haven’t seen your parents though.” Not cold or uncaring but pragmatic.

You can’t go home. They won’t find you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You stare through the murky water lit dimly by a crescent moon, down to your legs sitting in the silt. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I was.”

When Eddie stares it doesn’t burn like the glossy black does. His warm brown is almost a comfort where it flicks over you from head to hands still absentmindedly scrubbing your shirt. In another life from a week ago this could have been a normal thing to do, going for a dip in the lake. Maybe not during October but the cold doesn’t reach you the same now. You can feel it but it doesn’t get into your muscles and lock you up in a shiver.

“It’s not like you took anything of value.”

Eddie stills the back and forth swaying of his hands under the surface. “What?”

“It’s just like…it’s not a big deal. You said you needed help and I can help like this, I guess. It’s whatever.”

Silence between you two, just the splashing of water against the lake shore and the heavy sense of spilled feelings. He creeps close enough that he ends up on all fours just over your legs. “It’s not whatever, I took your life from you.”

“It wasn’t much of a life Eddie.”

“You can’t see your family again. You can’t go home.”

“I know.” You stop scrubbing and clutch your stained work shirt in your fists. His face is crumpled in pained confusion as he tries to get you to understand.

“I can’t fix this.” There’s layers to those words. “There’s no end to this, whatever this is.” He gestures between the two of you. “I-I can’t make you human again.” Panic lays under his tongue and he inches forward. “When this is all over? All the cracks and-and the monsters and him? I don’t know what happens. What’s supposed to happen.”

Eddie stands abruptly, bringing streams of water up with him that pull on his boxers. The thin fabric clings to his hips and you drop your gaze quickly. “I don’t-I didn’t think-fuck!” The echo of his voice bounces off the trees when he yells and buries his face in his hands. His distress worries at your brain again, a tether pulled taught between you and you wonder if he’d feel a reaction to your more volatile emotions. Before you can stop him he makes for the shore and leaves you staring into the glittering water.

Another week goes by and Eddie spends most of it in that other state. He makes sure you’re fed but he doesn’t stick around, just disappears until sunrise when he tucks you both in for the morning.

“Eddie?” You whisper at him under the tarp. He isn’t pressed close today and that bond you’ve felt growing in the amorphous background of your mind feels stretched. It’s a new kind of ache, one that rivals the way your stomach burns between feedings, and you pull yourself over. Shoulder to shoulder, forehead almost pressed to his cheek you ask. “What is it that found me?”

“The black hand.” He doesn’t open his eyes, breathing even and slow.

“What is it?”

“A monster.”

“Is that what destroyed Hawkins?”

“No.” He shakes his head, crown of his curls rolling against the wall. “That was Henry.”

“Henry? A man did this?”

“He’s not a man anymore. He’s vines and a hive mind.” The tarp crinkles against his hair when he shifts his head, rolling it toward you so your forehead does press into his face. “When a portal opens up I can show you where he hides.”

“A portal?”

“It’s…he can explain later.” A dismissal but he doesn’t move away from you. He drops his knees so your bodies touch from ankles to faces and you feel that tug again deep in your guts.

“You need to eat.” You whisper into the collar of his shirt, stiffened by lake water and grime half scrubbed away. “You look terrible.” His cheekbone is too prominent against you and his hands boney when he pulled your wrist to bring you under the makeshift blankets. You just need to help, you want to help. It’s why he found you right? A purpose finally for your small, now inhuman, life.

Your teeth bite through the thin skin of your wrist easily and the smell of blood floods your senses. Eddie’s eyes fly open, the all black dull when he finds your wrist held in front of him. “Eat.”

“It’s not the same.” He swallows thick and doesn’t tear his eyes away even as he tries to brush you off again.

“But it’s something.” Behind your words you feel a ripple in your intention. An urging for him to take. Not anger but intense persuasion. You picture him reaching out for you like you had to him in that alleyway. A clear snapshot and it’s gone, that small reverb in your voice diminished when that tether to your spine has an answering pull.

His palm is cold when he pulls at your wrist to bring it to his dry lips but you don’t flinch. The red pumps sluggishly from the wound against his mouth and you get to watch him take that first tentative lick. Something human in the crease of his brows, a small noise from the back of his throat. His lips wrap around to suck at the wound and you’re matching his whine. The pull of blood makes your eyes flutter, the grip of his fingers on your elbow send a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold. Eddie knows when to stop so you don’t worry but the slow turn to sluggishness makes you droop into him.

He breaks with a soft gasp, tongue rough against the thin skin of your wrist. “Thank you.” He runs a thumb over the bite you inflicted and it stings before it starts to close slowly. You can’t make out anything in the dark now but you can picture those brown eyes flicking between your own just like his thumb that soothes over your wrist. Your sleep catches up to you faster than normal and you can feel yourself fading when Eddie shifts you so he can bury his face under your jaw.

“We’ll go out at dusk okay?” His lips brush against your neck. “I’ll show you how to hunt, in case anything happens.” His hand snakes into your limp one while you hang on to the threads of your consciousness. He isn’t warm or cold against you, he isn’t anything really, but the tension in your belly loosens when you feel him relax into you and you can see the faint line of the sunrise along the far edge of the tarp.

Eddie expects to wake to your rising pulse against his lips as you stir back to life next to him. He’d fallen asleep pressed into you to help quell the growing gulf of pain he’d created by finding you. No food and distance from you proved to be a hindrance so it felt safer to hide in the dark behind beetle shell eyes, right until you’d forced him to eat. It felt different from the other commanding voice in his head, this one softer, no invisible hand on his neck to force his head down into blood. You gave him an offering that he could take willingly. One he could have gently.

So when he comes to with his face in the splintering floorboards he’s confused before he jolts up and has to fight his way out of the tangle of tarp. The sun leaves only a strip of gold and pink on the horizon and the trees are nothing but a black silhouette against the sky.

“Fuck.” He snaps his gaze around and up into the sagging roof. He peers into corners and finally out the window to try to find a scrap of you. Vines are trampled into a path and he’s outside before he notices the stench of copper on the breeze. Instinct draws his nose up to find the source and he knows exactly where he’ll find you.

He’s into the brush before the last bit of sunset disappears, hoping that this isn’t anyone he might have known previously. Any one of his friends who could be injured out here in the wild overgrowth about to meet his newest creation. In a deep part of his mind he laughs at the flicker of a thought that Vecna was his last played villain and here he is, accidentally siccing his companion on the unsuspecting.

There’s no sounds of struggle, just hushed words whispered harshly at each other as he makes his way through broken brush.

“There’s a curfew.”

“I know! I fucking know okay?!”

“Just get up and we can make it back to the car okay?”

“Just get up?! Just get up?!”

The voices have no body yet but a strong scent, one bleeding while the other exudes distress. The sour tang of fear sits in the back of Eddie’s throat and mingles with his own. He’d meant to show you how to hunt the animals out here, not the stray humans that still wandered too close to the lake. Past their boundaries set by intruding agents and into the woods to find whatever beasts had broken through the earth and wrecked havoc on their town.

There’s a scuff of metal and wood hitting the ground, a rifle dropped by one man to help the other stand, and a ruffling of leaves that only Eddie can hear. You stand a few feet from him, stock still except for your fingers that seem to dance along invisible strings. A flexing of your fists against your new instinct to lunge.

His appetite isn’t as new as yours, the voraciousness of it suppressed while yours beats against your teeth. He can see how you stand poised to pounce, muscles tense under your dirty shirt. He doesn’t need to call your name for you to realize he’s there, but he’s startled all the same when you look over your shoulder at him, eyes wild and deep. The black of your pupils bleeds through the color, veins of ink that creep across into the bloodshot whites of your eyes and Eddie realizes his mistake with the tilt of your head. You’d held yourself back until he’d made himself known, predator competition for a prize kill.

From his perspective your movements slow when you turn back to lunge at the two men and one of them finally notices you. He jumps when you come into focus and he jolts again when Eddie comes into view just as quick, hot on your heels to stop a slaughter. He grabs the back of your shirt and a snarl rips out of your chest, alerting the humans to your monstrousness. They freeze together, crouched on the ground surrounded by drops of blood. Even with his bearings Eddie finds it hard to focus on you, his own need clawing up his throat when the metal in the air seems to coat his mouth. He breaths heavy, panting as his ignored hunger makes its presence known and his grip on you loosens. These are not his friends, not family or even familiar in a sense.

These men have been staring for too long.

They’ll recognize his face soon, maybe even yours too.

They’ll run into town and ruin his plan, telling everyone the freak was alive and well with the newest missing girl in town.

“Eddie…” You moan and his attention breaks from the cowering men to you and the want laced in your voice. “Eddie, I’m hungry.”

You don’t need his permission, not now anyways, but you wait until he nods softly. Two screams erupt off the surrounding trees and one cuts off short into a wet gurgling when your teeth find purchase at the base of their neck. It’s a slow drag to the forest floor, your mouth anchored to this man’s juglar. His knees hit the hard ground while your fingers dig into his shoulders and you let yourself fall on top of him, his hands weakly beating at your arms. The other man only whimpers now while he tries in vain to drag himself away, gouged calf leaving a bleeding line behind him.

Eddie doesn’t find delight in this hunt. He hasn’t enjoyed any human life he’s taken thus far but he won’t lie to himself. This blood is sweeter, thicker and richer than the surrounding fauna. It fills his belly longer and sharpens his senses to fine points, sharp enough to hear the vines creeping beneath the town.

“I want you to know this isn’t personal.” Eddie says lowly and the man in front of him bables through the tears. “I can’t let you go though, not when there’s so much to finish.” He descends before this human can let out another yell, Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his skull when blood floods his mouth. He remembers that first kill and quietly wishes he’d waited so he could watch your reaction. Hot copper fills him and he works quickly, too scared of getting lost in the sensation of feeding.

You’ve stilled in his periphery, stuck staring down at the unmoving man between your knees. Your shirt is bloodied again and so soon after you’d scrubbed it ‘clean’.

“Hey.” Blood drips from his lips back down onto its previous vessel and he wipes his hand over his mouth messily. “It’s a lot, I know but you’ll see-” He really hasn’t learned as much as he thought. Your head turns to him and his sympathetic words but your eyes hold no color. Black pools stare back at him and you hiss under your breath at his outstretched hand. It’s his turn to jerk away from you but you follow him back, your victim already forgotten in the leaves.

Eddie can’t find his footing before you reach him in your crawling, crowding him down next to his own murder. He isn’t afraid but he has no idea what you’ll do. He’d really thought there wouldn’t be an other you if there was no alternate dimension, not bats or vines present but again he’s proven wrong.

You hover over him and your eyes dance across his mouth where the blood is smeared. The sudden dip of your head makes him flinch and your tongue pointing into a fine v draws his attention. You run the tip of it along the corner of his lip, through the left over blood and over his skin. A deep hum rattles through you and Eddie has to fight his baser instincts. Your tongue roves again along his cupids bow and when his eyelids flutter to close he puts a stop to it. Holds up his arm to push you back slowly but you don’t take kindly to the denial. A snap of your jaws and you’re clamped to his forearm, fangs buried deep in the muscles.

The tussle only lasts a few moments but you get him good, his arm peppered in fanged kisses and the fingers of his other hand bloody. He wedges them in your mouth at the joint of your jaw and pries you open to shake his arm loose.

“Listen to me!” Deep layers bid you to still. He doesn’t like using it with you like your a meal to be lured but his arm aches. You still, breathing heavy, mouth red with his and the strangers blood. There’s a shift in your eyes and before he can blink the black seeps away leaving your bright eyes shining and wet in the waning light.

A sharp gasp when you realize what you’ve done to his arm. He keeps you pushed away but your hands grazing over the punctures make him less tense. Worry furrows your brow and the tether anchoring you two draws closer.

“Oh…Eddie I’m sorry. I didn’t-I couldn’t see you.” Your eyes screw shut while your hands grip around your bites.

“It’s okay.” He tries to placate you, long arms pulling out of your grip to draw you down for a hug. It only feels strange for a moment before he feels you shudder and his grip tightens.

“He’s everywhere.” You sob into his chest, hands wound up in his shirt. “I can hear him winding through my skull. I hear their wings all night, the screams.”

His hands rest on your back while you try to climb into his neck. A low whine escapes from your chest and he shushes you. He won’t think about the consequences of this yet, not when you’re dealing with this intrusion. The two bodies next you can wait, the new questions he has can too. Under his back the vines inch along and the beating of wings on their search for him vibrate the earth.

[catoperated]

Saw a post where someone described something as lame, a bunch of people in the comments said it was a slur, and a bunch more replied “how can that possibly be a slur.”

I’ll tell you… under the cut.

So let’s talk about ableist slurs.

There are a lot. Some terms relate to specific conditions. When you do a google search for “pinhead” the top results are all about Hellraiser. People who use it to describe someone as being stupid probably have no idea of its actual origin.

As a slur, it refers to people with microcephaly. People with small and/oddly shaped heads were a big draw at freak shows of the past. Oh yeah, “freak” is ableist, too. People fight back hard against that one. Y’know because they’re better than those freaks who like the wrong cartoon or whatever (sarcasm).

Lame refers to being unable to walk properly for whatever reason. You might’ve heard of lame horses, but even wiktionary outright calls using it to describe disabled people as dated and offensive.

Dumb was synonymous with mute in the past, which usually meant non-verbal autistics. “Blind, deaf, and dumb” was once a medical term referring to people who could neither see, hear, nor talk. Helen Keller was described as that, and before anyone gets into TikTok conspiracies, I’ve got a video for you. Was Hellen Keller a fraud?

No, but abled people on TikTok just can’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of formerly non-communicative person, given the proper tools, being so eloquent. Hell, I can barely touch type on a standard keyboard, so I rely a lot on my phone’s assistive tools to do most of the work for me. Leads to very weird typos sometimes.

And yes, while I’m on the subject, I’m sick and tired of people using predictive text as an excuse to justify generative AI models built off stolen data and art. When people say “fuck AI” they mean that kind of AI, and to act otherwise is to be deliberately obtuse.

I debated if “obtuse” was a little to close to “stupid,” which I try to avoid. I personally wouldn’t go so far as to forbid people from using more general terms like that, or phrases like “are you blind”—I’m too tired to be combative about it when I’m constantly having to prove I’m disabled (they act like I’ll wake up one day miraculously cured from cerebral palsy) to keep my benefits, but alternatives like ridiculous are right fucking there. Expand your damn vocabulary. Please.

I feel like I need a break before the next part, so here’s one of my cats. His name is Riley.

(ID in Alt text, unless tumblr ate it again)

Maybe you think this post is ridiculous. I don’t care. I grew up being called a spaz and having people tap their hands to their chest to mock me—I’m not even quadriplegic, I’m diplegic, but I guess that’s just the universal sign for the r-slur.

Wild that we finally reached the point that “retarded” is widely accepted as not cool to say, but commenters on YouTubr using “regarded” as a stand-in for it is just… I don’t know, lazy?

All this is just me trying to distract myself from the fact I’m in the path of the hurricane and the lights are already flickering. The basement is most definitely going to flood even if it only wings us, and I do not look forward to dealing with that.

I have no bread, milk, or eggs because of the grand southern tradition of making a run on grocery stores when bad weather looms. I always wondered what people did when they ended up with an excess after it passed—make a shitload of French toast? idk I’m stress-digressing here.

Oh, and because we have to keep saying it, cripples can reclaim any and all of these words, but ableds cannot. I’ve seen people argue that abled, like cis, sounds like a slur, when it’s literally what cis able people are—able-bodied, cisgender, the “standard.”

And we all know how people can get when faced anyone who goes against that white, able, neurotypical, cisgender, straight “standard.”

Imagine me making air quotes with that, cause people treating those traits as being “normal” are so… droll. (sarcasm again)

[wellthebardsdead]

*some emerald grove devil au with a spicy mama??*

———

Falûne: *gliding along just above the group, lazily doing loops and twirling in the updraft beside the risen road* Those gnolls must’ve been the ones that attacked the Tieflings the day they came to the grove, they tore right through those people- hm? *looks ahead seeing blood and charred earth leading towards the river*

Gale: At least we found Lihalas lute. I’m sure Alfira will be happy to see it safe, at least she can hold the memory of her teacher within the music she plays.

Astarion: that or remind her of her gruesome slaughter- where’d our friend go?

Wyll: *looks up to see Falûne’s tail disappear over the trees* … *runs off after him and freezes in shock seeing him approaching Karlach* LÛ GET BACK!

Falûne: *looks back at him* She’s hurt! *steps forward* hey it’s alright, I’m a friend, are you okay? *backs up as the tiefling stands tall and flames billow off of her*

Karlach: Me? *grins* never better! *eyes up his wings and devil like characteristics* A shame for you then devil! *readies her axe*

Wyll: DONT YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON HIM FIEND!! *grabs Falûne and yanks him back to safety*

Karlach: well I’ll be damned, the blade of frontiers cavorting with devils.

Wyll: He’s a devil only by blood, but his heart is pure. Unlike you. *draws his blade* Your end is- ARGHHH!

Karlach: *recoils as her tadpole connects to his and Lûnes, her eyes seeing through the blue devils and finding only kindness and love, nature all around him and the blessing of a unicorn* wh-what was that?!

Falûne: *seeing the hells up close for the first time through her eyes. The horror, the suffering, the bloodshed and the roaring heat of hellfire… and feeling an odd sense of comfort from all of it* I- *focuses harder and sees a faceless figure, then karlach herself being dragged through to the hell’s themselves, sold into eternal servitude against her will* it was, the tadpole- you… You’re not a devil… you’re a tiefling! You were sold to Zariel!

Karlach: Well fuck me, you, you’re really a kind devil then… there’s a first for everything it seems.

Wyll: No! You can’t believe a word she says she’s lying to you!

Falûne: I know a lie when I hear it, Wyll… you should know how hard it is to lie to a devil… she’s telling the truth.

Wyll: No! She served Zariel! She-

Falûne: Against her will, *walks in between them and gently places his hand on his blade, lowering it* listen to reason now… please…

Wyll: Shit… Shit!! *sighs* you’re right… I’ve been mislead then… you really are no devil.

Karlach: whew… thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to take your head off.

Wyll: hm, you would have died in the attempt.

Falûne: someone set you on Karlachs tail, and I’d like to know who.

Karlach: aye, me as well, go on then wyll. You’re among friends.

Wyll: in a few days time you’ll find out, and no doubt I will pay my penance then.

Falûne: penance?… should I be worried?

Wyll: you’re not in any danger. From what I’ve witnessed, you’re a far more powerful devil than her anyway.

Karlach: another devil? How many have you been dealing with??

Falûne: well there’s me, my uncle and now this mysterious third but- *recoils a little as the flames suddenly grow hotter and Karlach grones holding her chest* Sh-shit you’re still hurt! Let me-

Karlach: no no, that’s all healed- ughhh my engines what’s aching.

Falûne: engine?…

Karlach: my engine. *smacks her chest* zariel stole my heart and replaced it with this contraption… now she’s sent her yappy little attack dogs after me to get it back it seems. So called paladins of tyr, they cornered me outside the tollhouse.

Falûne: hm, let’s send them back to her with a warning then.

Karlach: Fuck yes!

*30 minutes later*

Falûne: *holding Anders by his throat* please work- Karlach, come here.

Karlach: *engine boiling over with rage as she stalks closer, axe ready to kill* Tell Zariel I said h- *blinks as Falûne’s hand reaches into her chest, his skin feeling cool like ice, claws gently smoothing over the blistering infernal metal as he grasps hold of it* huh?? What are you?

Falûne: Sending the warning. *lets go of Anders throat and plunges his other fist into his rib cage, grabbing hold of his heart and with a small spark of fiendish magic, switching it with the engine* EVERYONE BACK UP! *grabs karlach and pushes her back as Anders suddenly begins to blister and boil from the inside out, clawing at his skin and screaming in agony as the engine cooks him alive before exploding all across the room in a smouldering pile of entrails*

Karlach: *staring at it in shock, the engine nestled amongst it* you- *gasps as the engine and pile of flesh crumbles into ash, no doubt respawning in hell back at zariels feet where the deal was made* you just?… *feels her chest, a heartbeat soft and gentle thrumming away* I have, a heart again?…

Falûne: you do… h-heh I can’t believe I actually did it! I-

Karlach: *pulls him into a hug and holds him tight* th-thank you. Thank you so much I- *sniffles as she starts to cry* I’m going to live!

Falûne: yeah… *smiles and hugs her back* …You really need a bath you stink of hellfire.

*that evening*

Mizora: Karlach meets the criteria by having no heart.

Falûne: Karlach has a heart though, look.

Mizora: what no she- *shuts up seeing no vents left on her skin, no flaming glow, no flames, nothing* what?…

“Which means your contract with Wyll is now Null and Void and my contract will now take its place.”

Mizora: *face dropping in a moment of panic as she spins around to see Raphael sauntering over* A-Ah, l-lord Raphael, I had no clue you were involved with my little pet, surely we can resolve this amicably.

Raphael: we might, if my nephew wishes so. *looks over at lûne*

Falûne: *shakes his head*

Raphael: *nods and snaps his fingers suddenly binding Mizora in infernal chains* Karlach, you may have the honours.

Karlach: *grabs her axe* Fuck yes!! *runs at Mizora*

Raphael: *summons wylls new contract* just sign and you’ll have everything you need from me.

Wyll: the only requirement is keeping lûne safe?

Raphael: believe it or not I do actually care about my nephews wellbeing. The contract is just a security to be certain he’s in safe hands.

Wyll: huh, what happens if I fail?

Raphael: do you want to find out?

Wyll: nope. *signs it quickly and jumps as a rapier of infernal metal appears in his belt*

Raphael: wonderful. Now then- *suddenly plucks out wylls eye and seemingly crushes it in his palm before reshaping it with runes to communicate with him directly* I’ll be keeping an eye on things through you now. Do not disappoint me Mr Ravenguard. *tosses it at his face making it land perfectly back in his eye socket*

Wyll: ah-

[saltsicklover]

Pen Pal - Fan Mail Pt. 2

Title: Pen Pal - Fan Mail Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2500

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Self Loathing.

-- I am writing a part 3 for this so it is to be continued. I hope you enjoy! --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

When Bucky finally decides he is going to write to his new pen pal, he is knee deep in weeds outside of a long condemned government facility on the outskirts of a fly over town. The tall grass sways around him, the new blooms of flowers catching in the zippers of his tactical pants as he hurries around the property. He can't find it in himself to care about the lights from a helicopter swirling above him, a spotlight directly focused on the building. 

Sam says something over their headset, the coms link crackling with static the closer Bucky gets to the electric fence that holds him securely on the outside of the property. Maybe he was supposed to answer, radio in his location and update on the fact that the fence is indeed live and getting in would be a problem, but all he can think about is how he is going to start that damn letter. 

Is 'hello' too simple? Maybe he should start off with an introduction, right? Like when you meet someone for the first time and you shake hands and give them your name... But they already know who he is, or they at least know enough to have sought him out, so he doesn't technically need to introduce himself. 

He continues to trudge through the thick growth of weeds and flowers around the fence, mumbling to himself as he walks. Just as a thought appears in his head, he sinks ankle deep into sludgy water; dark brown and ice cold, the water seeps into his boot. He curses under his breath, the thought leaving him as quick as it came. The whole incident earns a hearty laugh from Sam, who comes flying his direction, wings spread to the sky like Icarus before the fall. 

Bucky finally gets to sit down two days later to pen out his response; his boots are abandoned in the entryway of his small quarters, one still drying out. He sits at the lonely kitchen table, the warm yellow light from the fixture above him lights the room in a way he doesn't particularly care for, but he decides to sit there anyway. 

There is a fresh legal pad in front of him, the stark yellow of the paper causing a bit of anxiety to churn within his chest. Bucky plays with his pen, twirling it between his fingers, the cap hanging loosely from his lips- he knows better than to chew on it, he really does, yet the first place the cap went when it came off of the pen was straight into his mouth. Maybe it will help with his anxiety, give him something to focus on. At least, that's what he repeats to himself.

"How hard could writing a letter be?" He asks the air around him, leaning in close to the legal pad. He traces over the printed lines with careful eyes, like he is trying to make the words appear without touching pen to paper. "Hell, I was born in 1917, I fought the goddamn Nazis. I can do this." 

"Dear Pen Pal"- He scratches that out. Not good enough, he deems it. 

"Good Morning," - What if it's not morning when they get this? He draws a line through.

"To whom it may concern," - What is this, a fucking death announcement. He scribbles that one out too, with big loopy circles. 

He tears the first page off of the pad, crumpling it up between his hands into a tight little ball. This may be harder than he thought. He gets up from his seat, leaving his legal pad behind. He will come back to it, to this, he promises himself. 

The following night, Steve and Sam drag him out of his quarters for drinks and a few rounds of pool at the local bar. Steve knows better than anyone that drinking is a waste of time now and the money is being wasted on tabs that add up faster than he can blink, but Bucky goes anyway. 

"So, are we going to talk about it, or are we still not talkin' about it?" Sam questions Bucky and Steve, looking over his pint glass at the men setting up the pool table. 

"Dude, seriously?" Bucky hits Steve on the back of the head, palm open and firm. Steve pushed Buck back on the shoulder, more playful than revenge ridden. 

"So we aren't talkin' about it, I see now," Sam sets his glass down on the table. Bucky can't help but focus in on the precipitation that runs down the side of the glass, it's easier than looking Sam in the eye. Steve opens their pool game, the cue ball hitting the arrangement of balls with a sickening crack, dragging Bucky away from his thoughts. 

"I think we should talk about it," Steve's candor slides off his tongue easily and Bucky's skin goes slick with sweat at the words. 

But they don't talk about it, instead the conversation drifts over to Sam and his family. The boat and his sister's constant worry about him, even though he swears she worries more about than damn boat than she does about herself. 

Sam tries to pry into Steve's love life. With his history with the Carter women, things have become rocky and tense in that department; the conversation between friends seems to be even more tense than the situation itself. Bucky and Sam remedy that by knocking back a few more drinks. 

As the night goes on, Steve seems to loosen up, his muscles relaxing making his overall figure seem to droop a bit at the shoulders. Sweat glistens on his brow, a product of the hot and stuffy bar they have been in for hours. Bucky lost interest in pool a long time ago, and darts were no better. 

Now, he is belly up to the bar, sitting in a chair that wobbles back and fourth on the uneven floor as he moves his weight. He is nursing a whiskey sour, a drink that doesn't offer much but burn and he likes it that way-  the burning feeling. It helps him think- feel something other than the self pity that seems to swallow him up, slipping down the throat of the monster that is depraved malignity. 

His attempts to wallow over his own lack of response to his new pen pal are accidentally thwarted by a drunk Sam who stumbles up to him, grabbing his shoulder with a bit too much gusto for Bucky's current mood. 

"Hey Bucky Buddy!" Sam sings, his words swimming with alcohol and scheme. Bucky just rolls him eyes, swiveling to look Sam in the eye. "You know, you need-" Sam's words are interrupted with a hiccup, "You need a plan, tha's wha' you need," Bucky tries to ignore the drunken babbles of his friend, but curiosity gets the better of him. 

"And what plan do you think I need?" Buck questions his friend, who is now pulled up in a chair next to him, a couple of napkins clutched in his hand. Bucky's stomach twists a bit but he watches as Sam leans over the bar, fishing for something out of his line of sight. 

"What the hell are you two up to?" Steve inquires, grabbing both men by the shoulder. Sam mutters out something as he sits back down, a pen in one hand, the crumpled napkins in the other. Bucky only manages a shrug. 

"We are making a plan!" Sam exclaims, writing the word "PLAN" in large, capitol letters on the top of the napkin. He accents it with a squiggly line underneath, grinning like he is hatching a plan to take down mortal enemies instead of helping Bucky write a letter. 

"So, what do you have so far?" Sam asks, looking at Bucky with too much confidence. Bucky just takes a long drink of his whiskey. "Nothing? Seriously!" Steve can only laugh at the display in front of him, his two best friends hunched over a napkin. 

"Why don't we start with a greeting?" Steve suggests. Sam lights up at the idea, and Bucky can't find it in him to disagree. 

"How about "Hello Beautiful?"" Sam throws out, writing it shakily on the napkin. Bucky rips the pen from Sam's hand, quickly writing a dark line through the words. 

"Too forward." He grumbles, adding another bullet point. 

"How about, "Hello, thank you for writing to me"?" Steve asks the group, and the men nod in agreement. Bucky scribbles that down. 

The men begin to pile a list together of all of the potential things to say to Bucky's new pen pal. They take turns writing, mostly banning Sam from adding his drunken thoughts to the list. They write down everything from things Bucky enjoys and how he spends his day to day, to funny stories from the 40's. They write down questions for him to include, each of them wondering who could be on the other side of the paper, writing to Bucky, pouring their heart out to a complete stranger. 

An hour passes and they have filled up three napkins, front and back, with details for Bucky to include. Sam is still drunk, leaning on Steve, both men wearing a wide, goofy grin. The men break for the night, the tab being paid by Steve who hands his card to the bartender without even checking with his friends. 

They wander out of the bar, Sam and Steve clinging to one another, both hell bent of keeping each other from meeting the pavement. Bucky can't help the laugh that bubbles up his throat at the sight before him and the way Steve holds Sam tight around the waist, the other man's arm slung loosely over Steve's neck. 

It reminds him of how he used to carry Steve home from his back alley brawls with men twice his size. Crimson always poured from his nose and the spaces between his too white teeth. The sight always made Bucky nauseous, but he could never let Steve know that, he would never live it down . Maybe it was the blood, or maybe it was seeing Steve strung out from one too many full force punches to the jaw, the cheek, the eye. 

Bucky trails behind Steve and Sam, watching them bumble down the darkened street towards the tower. He thinks about asking if they should catch a cab. He almost asks Steve if he needs help; but, instead, Bucky stops under a lamp post, the orange glow from above illuminating the ink stained napkins he pulls from the pocket of his jacket. He flips them over, fitting the smallest letters he can muster in any blank space he can find with the pen they definitely stole from the bar. 

Bucky writes a note about how Sam clung to the epaulette of Steve's jacket as he fought with his own feet to stay upright. He adds a tidbit about Steve and the way he used to laugh so hard it would send him into asthma induced coughing fits. Bucky desperately wants to tell his pen pal about how Steve was the one who would push every limit and would drag Buck with him, because most people think it's the other way around. He doesn't hold back the laugh that falls from his lips at the memory. He can still hear Steve's choked voice on the wind as they run from a fight that Steve was sure he was going to win- Bucky knew better but never told Steve otherwise. 

Bucky wants to tell them about Sam, and the way he welcomed him into his family, even after everything he has done. He wants to write about Natasha and Clint, hell he wants to write about everyone, but he worries that the moment he starts he is going to be at a loss for words. Excitement thrums through him at the thought of sharing his world with someone else, someone new. 

The moment Bucky makes it home, he sits himself down at his kitchen table again, the yellow legal pad still staring back at him. He pulls his notes out, looking them over before he grabs a pen. He has never been more thankful to have been pulled out to a bar before, and he doubts he ever will. 

"Hello. I want to start by saying thank you for writing to me. If I am being honest, your letter is the first I have ever gotten that wasn't some sort of empty threat. So, thank you for that. I do apologize for taking so long to write back. I have been away with work a lot recently, and I really didn't know what to say to you. 

Your first letter caught me by surprise, both the arrival and the contents. I am pleased to hear that you are well now. 

My friends, Steve and Sam, helped me write a list of all the things I have to write to you about. I guess you can say I have been worried about what I might include in a letter like this, but I am up for the challenge, so to say. 

If you are still willing, I would quite like to write to you. 

Your Pen Pal, Bucky Barnes."

Bucky looks over the letter he has scrawled out on the page. It takes up about a quarter of it, his hand writing somewhere between neat and boyish. He takes his pen and goes over a few letters, making them dark and clear. He reads and rereads it, a hand unconsciously coming up to to press against his chest, over the pocket where he keeps the letters he was written.

He worries that the words he has written won't be enough and that it's too late for him to send such a small letter. He worries that his handwriting is too messy compared to what he received and that they won't be able to read it, even though it is perfectly legible. He tried to dissipate some of the building nerves by running his hands over his jeans, then through his hair and over his beard. His hands move as his eyes scan the letter again. 

It will have to do, he finally decides and folds it up and stuffs it in an envelope so he doesn't have to look at it any longer. He seals it with a quick lick to the back of the envelope, the paper cutting the tip of his tongue. He swears a bit as he presses the fold shut flat. Once it is addressed, he presses an American Flag  Forever Stamp to the corner. He has never considered himself a sentimental guy, but those are the same stamps his Ma bought, so those are the ones he buys too. He runs a fingertip over the name and address of the front as the excitement and anxiety battle in his stomach for dominance. Maybe his pen pal will write back, maybe, maybe, maybe. 

TAG LIST

@vicmc624

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[ladykailitha]

In the Midnight Hour Part 7

Guys, guys, I am sooo close to finishing this. And if I didn’t have real adulting I had to do today, I would have finished it tonight. But...that said I am literally in the middle of writing the Vecna finale. So excited y’all.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

*

Eddie spent the day lounging around his lair, waiting for Vecna. When Vecna finally arrived, Eddie’s eyes flicked to the monster’s right hand and was pleased with what he saw.

“You were supposed to hunt those jocks,” Vecna snarled.

“I was merely keeping my nightly appointment with Harrington as requested,” Eddie said. “And thought I’d weaken more than just his mind.”

Vecna snarled. “I couldn’t see what was going on.”

Eddie reared his head back in confusion. “That’s never happened before.”

“The Harrington boy is becoming a liability,” Vecna snarled. “I want you to kill him.”

Eddie threw his hands up in the air. “I told you at the beginning of this that there is a line I won’t cross. And killing was one of them. If you wanted a murderer, to pick someone else. Despite what this fucking town thinks, I won’t kill.”

Vecna reached out and grabbed Eddie by the neck, lifting him up. “I am your master. You will do as I say!”

Eddie didn’t even bring his hands up to try and stop him. “Do it. Kill me. I’m already dead. All this was just prolonging the inevitable. Making my friends and family suffer. I never wanted to die, but I sure the hell didn’t want to be brought back as your plaything either.”

Vecna threw him against the wall and Eddie made no move with his wings to slow the decent. He knew that would only anger Vecna further.

“I am almost back to full strength,” Vecna roared, “by the end of the month I will rise up and take back that which was mine.”

Eddie let his body go slack. He knew the only way to deal with bullies and abusers was to let them think you’re too weak to move and unless they were intent on killing you they would get disgusted and leave. Can’t enjoy it if the person is unconscious and couldn’t feel it.

Vecna snarled and vanished.

Eddie sighed in relief. He had learned a lot. Did drinking from Steve make it so his connection to Vecna weakened? Because if it did, this was both really good and very bad.

He had a plan. Or at least something like a plan and he just needed to get to the right person.

Eddie chewed his lip.

He was going to go for the easiest person and hope Vecna didn’t find him out.

*

His nightly visit to Steve was going to be interesting to say the least. Especially since Steve was already out on the roof waiting for him.

“Hello, Stevie,” Eddie said, landing lightly on the roof next to him. “Waiting for  me again?”

“Didn’t we establish that I’m always waiting for you?” Steve asked with a small smile.

Eddie sat down next to him and looked out over the neighborhood. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

Steve sighed. “I got Robin to talk to my resident little D&D nerds.”

“Couldn’t do it yourself?” Eddie asked.

Steve shook his head. “I’m distancing myself from them because of you.”

Eddie winced. “Because I might be a Vecna haunt?”

“Originally, yeah,” Steve said. “And then I fell out with Dustin. And since they’re always together...”

“It was hard to talk to them?” Eddie finished.

“Yeah,” Steve said drawing his knees to his chest and hugging them. “Anyway, they brought up Kas.”

Eddie’s confusion cleared. “Ah.”

“Yeah, dude,” Steve murmured. “I keep working on this puzzle in my head and I keep feeling like a piece is missing.”

“And what is the puzzle of?” Eddie asked. “What’s the picture on the box?”

Steve sighed. “The Upside Down destroyed and everyone I love safe and sound.”

“That can’t include me,” Eddie said softly.

“Why not?” Steve asked in whine. “Why can’t I have it all for once in my god damned life. Why do I have to keep sacrificing my happiness for everyone else’s?”

“Steve...” Eddie said. “Once you kill Vecna, I’m dead, too. You have to know that.”

Steve closed his eyes and let the tears fall. Eddie wanted nothing more than to hold this boy in his arms and tell him it would be okay. But he couldn’t touch Steve and he couldn’t lie.

“There has to be a way,” Steve croaked through his tears.

“You guys are running out of time,” Eddie said. “I can’t tell you more than that but you can’t wait on a plan that would save me.”

Steve nodded. “They haven’t told me what their plan is. I don’t know it. But the second I’m told, I won’t be able to see anymore.”

Eddie nodded. “Because you can’t be sure about what Vecna can sense or see. I know.”

“You’ll know when that happens.”

Eddie smiled. “Hey, you still smoke?”

Steve looked up and grinned. “You craving a cigarette after all that?”

Eddie shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Give me a second.” Steve got up and crawled through his window.

He was back a minute or two later with a pack of Camels and a Zippo lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked Camels,” Eddie said as he pulled a cigarette from the box.

Steve pulled out a cigarette for himself and lit it. He passed the lighter to Eddie. “I didn’t.”

Eddie lit the cigarette and handed the light back. “Thanks, man.” He took a long drag and blew the smoke out over his head.

Steve smoked silently beside him as the night wore on.

Over head clouds rolled in hiding the stars.

“Uh oh,” Eddie said. “Looks like a storm might be coming in.”

Steve stubbed out his cigarette on the roof and flicked the bud into the garden below. “It been so long since it rained, it’ll be a good thing for the town.”

“I always love it when it rains,” Eddie said still smoking the remains of his cigarette.

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “I always hated it. Because it meant being kept inside with my parents, bored with nothing to do.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “For me it meant being able to hide from the world with a blanket and a book.”

“Maybe I could like it if I had someone to share it with,” Steve muttered mostly to himself.

Eddie closed his eyes and only opened them when the first rain drop hit his eyelashes.

“Go inside, Steve,” he whispered. “It’s about to rain.”

Steve looked up at the darkened skies and nodded. Without thinking about it, he brushed Eddie’s shoulder with his fingers.

Eddie looked up at him and smiled. For inside his head, Vecna screamed in pain.

*

Eddie began to spend the hours between dusk and midnight at the Motel 6. Tap, tap. Thump, tap. And getting the same taps in response. One night he changed the taps.

Wayne threw open the door to his motel room and rushed out to see Eddie curled up beside the door.

He crouched gently in front of him. He could finally see what Steve meant by wrong. He had assumed that Eddie had been twisted on the inside. But the long black tips of his fingers that extended into claws, the large leather bat wings, the sharp teeth and even the once doe-like eyes now angry and red told a different story.

“Hey, son,” he greeted softly.

“Wayne!” Eddie cried. He covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

“I’m know, sweetheart,” Wayne murmured. “But I had to see you.”

“I don’t know how much is me anymore,” Eddie lamented. “I feel all twisted and angry inside. I hurt people now. Because I have to. To survive. I wish I had stayed dead.”

Wayne fell forward onto his knees. “You’re still my Eddie.”

Eddie began to sob. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never,” Wayne said firmly. “Whatever beastie you have in your head, they’re the ones that would be responsible if you ever did.”

“Henry Creel,” he gasped. He feel Vecna getting angry, but Eddie didn’t care anymore. He was going to be dead and with any luck Vecna with him.

“I know, sweetheart,” Wayne said leaning forward. “Steve told me everything.”

Eddie leapt forward, throwing his arms around his uncle. Wayne hesitantly put his arms around his nephew. His hands hovered for a moment before he gave in.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut against the screaming in his head. “I only have mere seconds before Vecna yanks me back to the Upside Down. But I love you.”

Wayne squeezed him once and then let go, just as Eddie was lifted into the air.

Wayne’s hand went to his mouth as tears streamed down his face as his nephew was forcibly pulled from his sight back to hell.

*

“Why?” Vecna screamed. “Why does someone touching you hurt me?”

Eddie scrambled away from the monster, pressing up against the wall in terror. “I don’t know!”

Vecna advanced on him. “You know.”

Eddie put his hands up over his face. “I swear I don’t. I thought it was just Steve. Just like you.”  

“You will stay here until you figure it out,” Vecna snarled. “I can’t risk you being touched.”

“How will I eat?” Eddie asked. “And what about Steve?”

Vecna roared, picking Eddie up and tossing him around like a rag doll. Eddie felt his brain rattle around in his head.

“Please...” he managed to rasp.

Vecna tossed him in the direction of the pile of blankets and pillows that he used for a bed. He landed roughly, but at least it was softer than the floor or wall.

“You will feed only on the Harrington boy, and you will see him only when you need to eat,” Vecna sneered.

Eddie nodded weakly.

Once Vecna had vanished. Eddie curled up on his side and sobbed. He didn’t know why anyone touching Eddie caused Vecna pain, but he wanted to go out and be touched by as many people as possible.

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12  Part 13

Tag List: @clumsywriter @steddie-there @gregre369 @currently-steddiebrainrot @steddieassheg0es @estrellami-1 @anzelsilver @thequeenrainacorn @savory-babby @chaoticlovingdreamer @grtwdsmwhr  @renaissan-vvitch @panicatthediaz @swimmingbirdrunningrock

[tcfactory]

I need to straighten out my tags, but if people haven't noticed yet: hi, I'm falling pretty hard into a danmei rabbit hole.

Still loving ffxiv! Never abandoning those blorbos, they give me so much joy you wouldn't believe it. But most of my faves have been phased out of the MSQ (don't get me to start talking about Zenos because I'm still angry about how he was handled), I have mixed feelings about EW (the emotional beats hit, for the most part, but when I got thinking about it, some parts of the story really didn't work well for me, especially gestures at everything Hydaelyn and her bullshit) and right now we are facing like a half-year content drought so like...

...yeah. Interests wander. And I want to be more active about posting stuff. Maybe ramble once in a while. Share ideas that I don't have the spoons to write right now, maybe they end up inspiring someone or just entertain them in case I ever get around to writing them. That sort of thing.

I have some interest in BG3 stuff too, but my interests there are like. 300% tied up in this very self-indulgent reincarnation into time travel fix-it AU Emperor/Ansur fic I'm working on and the fandom as a whole really didn't endear itself to me, so I probably not going to make much noise about that save for reblogging some art. Idk

Anyway, I'm kind of rereading SVSSS because it's one of the few books I have on my e-reader, so it's perfect to read in-between classes and I got infected with all the brainrot - QiJiu, MoShang, I would sell Tianlang Jun for a cornchip and listen to him whine about it for the next century, that sort of thing. I'm still warming up to Bingmei, currently kinda lukewarm on the guy. I have a kind of embarrassingly long outline for a potential fic I might share if I ever work up the courage to it, it has literally everyone in it shadjfjsahfgds.

And I really need to read Devil Venerable again. And yell about it. And maybe draw for it, like a lot. I heard before I picked it up that Cyan Wings writes really good funny books and like, hell yes, 200% can confirm. Also this is the most ace xianxia novel I have read - admittedly haven't read that many yet, but still, damn, hats off to the author. Peak "Wtf is this romance shit?" "Idk, but you can't stab it so it's not my problem." vibes. Someone please give Zhongli Qian a raise, my guy is doing so much work to be the one sane, rational person in this mess.

[munsoninthedark86]

The Perfect Girl(First Kiss Headcanons)

warnings: fluff mostly. kissing. Contains Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson

Eddie is so fucking shy about kissing you. He’s loved you his whole damn life.

Eddie

It makes his heart race, his head spin and he feels like he might get sick…or maybe not. He doesn’t even know how to feel when your lips are on his.

He wants more. So much more. He’ll press himself up against you and just kiss you until you’re both breathless.

You were coming to pick up Dustin. Your mom and his mom had been friends for so long. You kind of took this kid under your wing. And when Dustin’s mom had asked you to start picking him up after Hellfire club, you took it without hesitation. Not only were you a good influence to Dustin and doing his mom a favor, but you were also able to see your favorite Dungeon Master without having to make excuses.

Week after week, you’d see Eddie. Your crush on him has never faded ever. He was still that cute guy you fell for in middle school. What you didn’t realize was how much Eddie loved you. And these small moments with him every week made it so much better.

He knew that the next time, he’d have to find some more time with you. So when you came to pick up Dustin, he had begged the kid to give him some more time with you.

“So I have to hang out in the scary hallway so you can suck tongues with her?” Dustin asks, clearly annoyed. But he still agrees to it.

Now that you’re in the same room as Eddie, he can barely hold back. Those beautiful eyes draw you in.

“You know, if you wanted some alone time with me, you only had to ask.”

You don’t give him a moment to reply. You only press a kiss to his lips. Your fingers tangle in his wild mane of hair. He’s in heaven.

“Didn’t think you’d wanna give me the time of day…”

It’s not his first time kissing, of course. But it feels like it is all over again when it’s you.

Steve

He’s left breathless, blushing and wanting so much more. But he won’t dare make another move.

Steve is sweet with his kisses. He doesn’t take things too fast and he knows the right moves to keep you swooning.

You felt your face heat up. You’ve had a crush on Steve for so long. You don’t know what initially drew you in, considering he hasn’t always been this kind. But now that you’ve seen so deep into his soul, you know that he is a good guy.

You just didn’t think you’d be with him at this stupid party. Everyone is dancing and having fun, and you’re trying to nurse a broken heart. Being dumped was hard, but having your good friend with you here was just the right thing. Maybe you’d work up the courage to finally tell Steve how you felt.

In a small corner of the room, you and Steve chat in private. He’s been so damn sweet to you all night.

“You know, I’m glad you came tonight. It would have been a bummer if you would have stayed home.”

You shyly smile at him before taking a sip of your drink. “You’re right. It would have been a bummer.”

Steve takes a step forward, “When am I wrong?” He leans in, his hand cupping your cheek. Then he kisses you, so softly but so lovingly.

“I hope I wasn’t wrong to do that.” But you just kiss him again and again.

[fictionplumis]

Okay okay okay I got another one for Sorcery!

Flanker ends up with the Crown of Kings.

Bear with me. We all know he would dash that thing on the ground and destroy it after it was used on him to make him nearly kill the person he loves, but here's the thing.

The Analander hands it to him with such a trusting, earnest look and tells him, "You won't take away power from the people and you can fix this world. I know you can." And even though almost every part of him balks at the idea of ruling, Flanker has experienced how broken the world is, how none that are currently in power will do anything to fix it with or without the crown, and it makes a weird kind of sense for someone so reluctant for power to be the one holding it, the one wielding it.

And it's so hard to say no to the Analanader when they look at him like he personally hung the stars that sorcerers draw their power from.

So he takes it.

He tries not to use it. It's a cursed thing, and Flanker doesn't wish to control the people around him, least of all the Analander, but it's not an easy thing to do. It's not the temptation of it, it's not that he feels he needs to, it's that in his memories of the Archmage using it on him, the crown had been nowhere in the room. The Analander swears it had been on the Archmage's head, they just couldn't see it because the Archmage hadn't wanted them to, but it's hard for him not to question it.

Especially when he wears it and doesn't need to consciously give an order. Those that don't know about the crown well enough to fight the influence, or who trust him the most, seem to react to his subconscious will even before he says anything. Those things unsettle him the most, especially when it happens with the Analander. One stray thought of desire or pang of want while he has the crown on and the Analander is in the room, and they're at his side, arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple or what have you. Afterwards, with the crown well away from the both of them, they swear they don't mind, that they want those things too, but it still doesn't sit right with him.

As far as actually being a ruler goes, Flanker hates attention, so you know he's not going to be going out there and greeting the people and announcing himself as the new monarch of Mampang or whatever. He's a shadowy ruler, and there's just as many rumors about him being dead as there were about the Archmage. But--

Things start changing. Slowly, at first.

Despite his discomfort with magic and his lack of knowledge, the changes start with the College of Sorcerers. The Analander suggests that he release Valiquesh from the book she was trapped in and together with Aliizi (who was wary of him at first but started coming around, either unconsciously because of the crown or because she genuinely realized he wasn't going to purposely control her, it's impossible to say), they reestablish the College.

And the second Flanker finds out an acquaintance of the Analander's is locked up, he goes and frees Jann. The minimite, despite being an irritating headache, is something of a relief. The crown's power doesn't work while he's around and Flanker can always trust that the little pest will say exactly what he wants whether Flanker likes it or not.

It's even more reassuring that Jann first spent most of his time riding around on the Analander's shoulder since his wings were clipped, but the Analander eventually got frustrated at having their magic cut off and resolved to solve the problem, which came one day they were at the market and found a man selling a caged crow. They used their magic to speak to the bird, offering it job to be paid in food, safety, and some of its freedom back.

Flanker was sure the damn bird was going to eventually get irritated with the annoying minimite and eat it, but couldn't have been more wrong. More often than not, Jann ended up sleeping nested with the bird. The Analander, amused beyond belief at Flanker's annoyance, explained that the bird liked being talked to, but crucially, couldn't actually understand a word Jann said. Plus, Jann liked to give the bird scritches. The minimite treated the crow like one would a prized and beloved family horse.

It took a few months for the real work to actually start. The College was operating again, but without students, it was useless. And in order for there to be students, the gates of Mampang needed to be open to travelers. And in order for that to happen, people needed to be able to cross the Baklands safely. Flanker kept trying to put off actually exerting his influence on the people but Valiquesh was impatient and once the Analander and Jann pointed out how often he was using the crown to silence Valiquesh and keep her from calling him a coward, he finally decided to actually act.

Flanker's not a monarch, though. He knows nothing about actually ruling, so his first order was to establish a council and gather the other rulers of the land to talk to them.

He did not fret about the meeting in the weeks leading up to it.

He did not.

(He paced a lot. The Analander laughed kindly at his nervousness and assured him it would be fine. That didn't stop his pacing.)

They met in the study, which had been cleared of all the Archmage's things and was mostly used by Valiquesh and the Analander, because Flanker himself preferred their private quarters, which had been Jann's old jail cell, cleared and reconstructed with a fireplace, a cozy sleeping area, and a small sitting arrangement right in front of the fire. But for this, Flanker met them in the study, all but Jann in attendance, Aliizi watching the proceedings in invisibility, and Flanker dressed in his assassin's garb as usual, resolutely showing no signs of his nervousness.

That grew easier the more he asked each ruler how they made their kingdom prosperous and how they would have used the crown to benefit their people. With each answer, he grew increasingly irritated, finally understanding just why the Analander gave the crown to him instead of destroying it or giving it back to his king.

The only one of them that had wanted to implement any real change was Vik, who was distasteful at best, but at least had been put into power by the people of Khare and who was (somewhat) giving that power back to the people. But his change was only for Khare, while the other rulers just wanted their kingdoms to stay the same while abandoning Khakabad and the Baklands to suffer in poverty, ruin, and curses.

That was the moment Flanker started using the crown seriously.

The king of Analand was ordered to open his gates to Khakabad and send out sorcerers, farmers, and supplies to the neighboring towns. Khakabad would be part of his kingdom now, and he was to share Analand's prosperity and teach the people of Khakabad how to prosper themselves. They were now his responsibility.

Vik was ordered to stop enslaving people and forcing them into being his own private army of werewolves. Most of the damage was already done, but he was told to take the armor off the werewolves he did have, explain to them that they were now werewolves, and instead ask them to become part of his guard. It was now a job, like anything else was, and those that wanted to work for him would be paid well and for the rest of their lives, even after they could no longer work, considering they would forever live with the consequences of lycantropy. They were to have shifts with overseers to remove their armor at the end of the shifts so they could go home and have lives. Barracks were to be built for those that weren't on shift or those that no longer worked so they had somewhere safe to go during a full moon where they couldn't hurt anyone.

The other rulers were ordered to send contractors and sorcerers into the Baklands to dismantle the Archmage's beacons. This was something that Flanker put a lot of thought into outside the meetings, talking with the Analander, Aliizi, Valiquesh, and Jann about it. After lengthy, heavy discussions, they all agreed that it wasn't fair to keep those ghost towns alive, the people in them never knowing that they had died ages ago, never able to leave, their lives forever looping. It was best to leave the past in the past, and instead look towards what the Baklands could become in the future.

One night, years later, once all of Flanker's plans were well on their way to being completed and the gates to Mampang were open again, the College of Sorcerers seeing their first year of recruits under Valiquesh's teachings, Flanker sat on the distastefully extravagant chaise with the Analander's head in his lap while they dozed, turning the crown in his hand over and over again while staring at the fire.

Truly, for such a powerful item, it was a poorly made thing. Threadbare, the jewels chipped, the metal thin and bones crooked.

The Analander roused, half-asleep, meeting Flanker's gaze sleepily and it was as if he knew. A subtle nod of understanding was all Flanker needed to throw the cursed crown into the fire, the skullcap catching immediately and the fire warping the metal. By morning, all that would be left would be a puddle of metal and blacked gems.

"You always destroy it," the Analander murmurs, turning their face back into Flanker's stomach with a yawn, their eyes closing. "Sometimes right away, sometimes later, when you feel like the work is done. The land always fairs better when it's later."

"You are not awake," Flanker replies, because the words don't make sense. He ignores the twist of discomfort, resolves himself to ask the Analander about it later, and instead bullies them up so he could take them to bed, shedding clothes along the way.

It would be days later when he manages to corner the Analander in the library that he asks about it and gets the full story.

I'm cursed.

When I die, I return to Mampang on the day we defeated the Archmage. I can show you the very alley I return to.

I do it all over again. I've done it hundreds of times. I've gotten good at it, too. Once I figured out how to break you out of the Archmage's control, I've never once had to fight you again.

No, you didn't kill me that first time. But killing you killed me. I couldn't do it without you, and I was relieved when I died to the Archmage and had another chance to save you. I have every time since, and even though things change in the strangest ways, every time I tell you that I love you, your blade finds its home in the Archmage instead of my throat. You're strong enough to break out of the compulsion every single time.

You don't need to worry, Flanker. I know how to lift the curse. There's a tower in the College of Sorcery where I can undo it. I choose not to, not yet. At first I just wanted to see what decisions would be best for us and people of this land.

I've given the crown to my king, and things weren't bad. He kept it for two more years and passed it on to the next kingdom. Analand prospered and everyone knew who I was, who we were. But you hated the attention and I grew tired of it. We started a life for ourselves in the Shamutanti hills, an hour outside of Khare. You continued work for your guild after growing restless, I studied my magic, and we were happy. But in the quiet moments both of us agreed that it felt like something was missing. It was disquieting to both of us that nothing had really changed. It was the same every time I gave my king the crown, the only thing that differed was how I died. Sometimes one of us would get sick, or you wouldn't come back from Khare and I would have to track down someone from your guild to find out you had died, or I would go into town for supplies and get caught off guard by bandits...

I thought if I destroyed the crown, something different would happen, so I tried that a handful of times, but it was almost exactly the same. Analand would be in turmoil for a year or so before settling down, and we would live happily if unsettled over how little change our sacrifices and hardship actually made.

Then I thought to release Valiquesh. She made significant process back when she was the archmage. Every time she would destroy the crown, we would go on to live our lives in peace. She would establish the College again and work on revitalizing the land that the other monarchs left to ruin. It was better.

Once, I thought to stay in Mampang with her to study under her. But when I did that, you left, feeling you had no place in that world, and I lasted a couple years before I fell on my sword to see you again. Valiquesh was an unrelenting teacher and I learned a lot, but the progress I could have continued making wasn't worth being without joy. Being without you.

I thought to keep the crown for awhile, thinking I could make more change if I took matters into my own hand. You were always there with me, my general. But every time I did that, Aliizi would leave and Jann would want nothing to do with me. But you were there, and I made progress.

Sort of.

I never handled it with as much grace as you, Flanker. No, don't give me that look, I'm serious! After living so many lives and dying so many times, I was frustrated, and angry, and I always let it get the best of me. More and more each time. I never managed to make as much progress as I wanted, so each time I would take more and more control, until I realized I was becoming no better than the Archmage.

Thank you for saying that, but you never thought so in those lives, if I put the crown away. You were the one that told me I was like him, and you were right to say so in those lives. They still haunt me.

Whenever I gave you the crown and you kept it, everyone was better for it. You never relish the power, you never cling to it, and you push for the other monarchs to make the changes that they never would have made on their own. And once you feel you've done enough, you destroy the crown.

Now I don't bother to try other options. I've found the best one, and I repeat this life because I'm never ready to leave you. I want to keep doing this over and over, with you.

Flanker has no perception of these other lives that the Analander lived with him, has no idea how many the Analander went through, whether it was still that same life for them as it was for Flanker when, years later as they're sitting on the roof of the garret, watching the sun set, the Analander takes his hand and kisses the back of it, murmuring, "I think I'm ready for this to be our last time."

Even though it was always Flanker's "last time" he can't help but feel his heart squeeze with sorrow but he tightens his hand on the Analander's and nods in understanding.

"We both deserve to rest, my dear Analander."

[pastel-rights]

Both!

ooo... that's a good one... my sonas and my friends... it got kind of long and rambley, sorry.

well... among my own sonas... I think I'd have to say Rabuka for several reasons!

I'm a really big fan of his animalistic features (his wings and his tail! he technically has animal ears too but I didn't feel like drawing it.) and the black, white, and red color scheme with the yellow eyes. I have always been a big fan of characters with yellow eyes because it lends to an aura of mystery and divine origin,,, and because Rabuka is a demon who's got features based on a chimera, it works in his favour.!

Of course, there's also his lore and personality I like a lot too, as well as his interactions/relationships with other sonas.

See, Rabuka (which also means frilled shark in Japanese!) has a more. blunt and serious personality, he's very detached from those around him, so he doesn't have many close relationships. And because he's in technical hell, most of the relationships he has aren't deep or intimate either. Of course, this man is a little (extremely) out of pocket and it just adds to his charm I think.

He's a bartender and a gambler at heart, in the overworld at least. He appears at the casino that Pins' mafia boss sona runs, and he acts as her right-hand man. He almost softens up around Miss Vampire because he doesn't perceive her as a threat. He thinks she's kind of cute, to be honest.

In hell, he is the technical bodyguard of the princess. Miss Char... well, see. She isn't the sharpest knife in the shed. She does stupid things and gets herself into situations and it's up to him to save her. He thinks she's a dumbass, but she's his dumbass and he'll be damned if anything happens to her while he's there.

He wants to have a heart of stone. To be cold and uncaring and emotionless. And he is, for the most part, yes. But there's a tiny sliver of him that is *almost like human* that no amount of being a powerful demon in hell can really override.

Of course, there is his lore, which adds to his personality and relationships a lot.

Rabu wasn't always in hell, after all. He wasn't human, of course, but he wasn't always a demon either.

I think what I like most about Rabu is his duality. He isn't black and white, but rather all the different shades of grey in between. There's not one correct way to see the world, morality isn't just one or the other.

Everything is a spectrum. Rabu included.

And I think I just really vibe with that.

as for friends' sonas...

for starters, miss fashion designer is by far my favorite Pins' sona. I mean. Just look at her. She's gonna go jump the k-pop idol and her brother and do it in STYLE /j (and probably lose /lh)

I also just really enjoy the vibe and relationship she has with miss florist. they just have a really enjoyable dynamic together and I really love the way they mesh together! women <33

for klai, i kind of. really vibe with Zaiaku??? there's something about the other sister who tries so hard to fix everything that she falls apart. that I just really like. I also really do like their design! It's giving off like. elegant older sister vibes... I can trust her with my worries!!

i probably shouldn't but hey! saki's colorblind so there /j

and then for Sam. well.

White Devil.

I have a bias for puppet/doll aesthetics and they just. hit it so well....... I just. I also have a personal bias towards their design and color palette. Something about them is offputting but in a /pos way and I do think the eldritch horror doctor motif fits Sam perfectly???

And there's the matching Nerissa.

And the way they interact with one another and in the setting of the story is just. really nice. The way they assist one another and care so deeply.

There's something about two monsters learning to love each other that's really heartwarming for these two.

...

okay so you might be wondering if Tazai is my favorite Tae sona. to which.

uhm.

narratively speaking, yeah? I think the character development they go through and the struggles they've gone through have made them an overall favorite sona of all time for me, and the way they express love towards their girlfriend/future wife and the lengths and pain they're willing to go through is enough to make any stone cold bitch swoon but.

i have another favorite above them.

now i KNOW you are ALL RUSHING towards me with your fire and pitchforks /j because who the FUCK would I like more than TAZAI who I drew so FUCKING much to which.

hear me out hear me out

okay so like. hey hey wait no hear me OUt.

tatum is my favorite tae sona purely because of how. silly she actually is. she's just a fun sona to draw and she's a fun sona to shitpost with.

tatum isn't SUPPOSED to be taken seriously and that's. why I love her.

okay thanks for coming to my tedtalk please don't kill me over my choices of favoritism /j

[electrosair]

Hihii!!! This is my first time doing a matchup so hopefully everything is well ^^ I love your work btw <33

Let’s see— in my free time I like to draw, write, read— all that creative stuff. I also love just meditating and going about my day and appreciating everything even it’s something very minuscule!

I’m an ENFP 2w3! AND NO IM NOT ONE OF THOSE TOXIC WING 2S PLEASE I PROMISE I AM VERY NICE AND NOT AT ALL LANA DEL RAY MANIPULATOR I AM VERY LANA DEL REY HUGS AND KSISES AND DPUPPPIES

Honestly? I’m loud. I’m very honest but I always make sure to be nice about it. I value kindness and love a lot because I empathize with practically everyone around me— I flirt a lot AS A JOKE Plus im just very touchy in general like ill hold hands with anyone im walking with or hug people SUPERRRR tightly as like a greeting or just because i thought ‘damn this person is cool’!!!!!!!!! Also i can be really naive, especially socialy even though im an extrovert 😿 Basically social cues are 99.9% sure to miss me which is a big bummer :(

My favorite nation is DEFEINITLY SUMERU 😻😻😻😻 And I love Hydro & Anemo ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ As for factssssss ⁉️⁉️⁉️ okok I LOVE CARTOONS LIKE OCTONAUTS OR MLP: FiM AND IM ACTUALLY SUPER SUPERBBOOK SMART EVEN THOUGH IM KINDA(very) OBNXIOUSSIO which usually surprises people from what ive seen— i kind of have this very quiet and smart and wise side to me but i dont show it to anyone because i like making people smile and i prefer being more flirty to make them laugh so thats why i keep that side of me a secret-/ OH MY FARTS I SOUND LIKE A ENNEAGRAM WING 2 🤯🤯🤯🤯 i am one haha

And my favorite little pookie munchkins areeeeeeee : SCARAMOUCHE ❕❕❕ ALBEDO CYNO VENTI HEIZOU AND TIGHNARI 😻

anyways tjis was my first ever matchup req aahaaaahahahaahaa GOOD LUCK WITH ME I LOVE YOUR WORK I REALLY DO PLEASE NEVER STOP BEING YOU ❕❕❕❕😻😻😻😻

this was hilarious to read, i even texted my bestie with a screenshot of some parts aldkasjdlask

Heizou!

He would be attracted to your fun personality and how hard you try to make the people around you laugh, Heizou has a very cheeky nature and because you're so naive you could be the center of several of his double entendre jokes only to watch you not catch them.

That you like to interact with people with a little flirting and enjoy physical contact would only make it easier for him. He would definitely love it every time you hold his hand while walking or get a little more clingy with him.

You'd get along just fine if we took away his silly jokes, which would be fun for him but not so much fun for you. Heizou would like spending time with you so much that he would only leave when he really had to work.

[originemesis]

@kugel-bitch xxx

She might be the only person this side of heaven who can manage to find his boisterous antics grounding. Lute closes her eyes for an ephemeral moment, drawing a very pointedly irate breath in through her scrunched nose before she releases it in a much more controlled stream through pinched lips. The hardness melts away from her pallid features and she opens her eyes again to meet with Adam's gaze. "With all due respect, sir, that is not even close to being the main issue we're facing!" Steepling her hands atop the edge of the desk, she inclines her body, ruffled wings folding neatly against the curve of her back. "This audacious bitch of a hellspawn has proven herself to be anything but the insipid doormat her father is. We cannot forget they have the means to raise a resistance when we return for the next extermination. The proof is laying headless in the morgue as we speak! We have to adjust our strategy accordingly."

Still perched on the edge of the desk, he looks as if he's listening to every word she's saying- or at least, all of what she's saying is going through a long tunnel and IN to the golden light in his head. As to whatever happens to the sentiments and raised concerns while they're in there is anyone's guess, including hers. The only indication of what that might be comes in the form of his milkshake's straw drifting ever closer to his face. Once it reaches the sharp snap of his teeth, he latches on and gives the sloppiest sounding slurp that side of heaven - a sound that might have been at home in hell with all those crack whores sucking dick for more crack, but was quite jarring up in heaven. Damn peanut butter- always getting stuck at the bottom.

Once he'd finished the valiant attempt at emptying the cup, he issued his rather dour lieutenant a wide grin. "Look at yoooou... being so on top of shit. Well, I mean- aside from the desk...but I got that base covered." He added with a short laugh and a stretch of his wings to knock whatever was left standing on the work station knocked asunder or on the floor. Granted, his mirth was soured shortly by the mention of a certain hell lord. The grin fell as hard as Lucifer had. "They're not gonna do shit-all. You think Lilith's little thottie-hottie is going to be able to pull herself out of the depression known as fucking around with one of US~? Not likely ~ that's why I brought it up. See...? I'm on top of shit too." He squeezed the empty cup to crush it in his talons before flinging it over the side of the desk with the rest of his mess.

"I mean, I was just gonna suggest that you adjust to better reflect your position under me, but ~ now you're piquing my interest." He waved the lingering concern over the body away with a flick of his wrist. "What's your hot take?"

[cilant-lis]

pf wotr thoughts (some vague spoilers)

"why am i so bad at this game, i'm usually good at strategy. WHERE ARE MY SPELLS- oh there's a spellbook i must use" (it took me 10 lvls to find the damn thing)

not enough lore info in the character creation. i know nothing about any of these countries. i wanna make my characters grounded in the world

the comabt is a bit (a lot) of a drag, even when speeding up animations, so i eventually switched to story mode

daeran is such a bitch, i love him so much. it's like he was made in a lab specifically to appeal to me. and his romance... oh boy

all of the characters are great, even those my kc didn't really get along with (though i am very biased towards my usual party: woljif, daeran, seelah, arueshalae and ember)

i checked the wiki and seelah is not romancable??? why can't i ever romance a knight lady ; - ; being a lesbian is hard

i'm enjoying the army management section way too much. outing myself as a homm player lmao

I HAVE A DRAGON and i would literally sell my soul for aivu to be safe and healthy. she's my Best Friend and my Specialest Girl.

zoiana is multiclass greenrager and druid, and it's a little annoying i only have two levels in druid because of alignment shift :/

alushinyrra was hell. i could not find my way around the city. i kept getting attacked around every corner, it lagged like crazy, and i never want to go back

hhhh i wish we were able to customise the commander's ascended appearance... zoiana's azata wings clash so much with their colour scheme. i think i'm gonna draw her with luna moth wings

"the lesbians have won :))" four acts later "the lesbians have lost :((" (in short, i gotta figure out how to keep irabeth alive so she can be with her wife and lesbians can still win in my 2nd playthrough)

areelu was such an interesting antagonist, and some of the plot twists and reveals were delicious (and worked perfectly to tie into my kc's backstory)

one more complaint: what in the fuck was wrong with nenio's quest. i almost dropped it, but i was too curious about her backstory so i was a nasty little gremlin and installed a cheat mod lmao